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J.  M.  BARRIE 


Vol.  I 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 
BETTER  DEAD   ^  k   ^ 


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THE  NOVELS, TALES 
AND  SKi  TCHES  OF 
J.  M.  BARRIE  ^  *  * 


A 


ULD    LIGHT    IDYLLb 
^   BETTER    DEAD 


Se  PUBLISHED  IN 
NEW  YORK   BY 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S 
SONS      w      %      1896     ^: 

LONDON  :  I^;9^^|:F^<Sz^  STOUGHTON 


/  y 


J.  M.  BARRIE. 


THE  NOVELS, TALES 
AND  SKETCHES  OF 
J.  M.  BARRIE  ^  '^  * 


A 


ULD    LIGHT    IDYLLS 
%  BETTER    DEAD 


5g  PUBLISHED  IN 
NEW  YORK   BY 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S 
SONS      ^      51      1896     ^ 

LONDON  :  HODDER  &  STOUGHTON 


author's  edition 


I'k.  .  /I 


Copyright,  1896,  by  Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 

"Auld  Licht  Idylls."    Copyright  in  Great  Britain,  and  included 
in  this  edition  by  arrangement  with  Hodder  &  Stoughton. 

"Better  Dead."      Copyright  in  Great  Britain,  and  included  in 
this  edition  by  arrangement  with  Swan  Sonnenschein  &  Co. 


THE   DE  VINNE   PRESS,  NEW  YORK,  U.S.A. 


TO 

FREDERICK  GREENWOOD 


INTRODUCTION 

THIS  is  the  only  American  edition  of  my  books 
produced  with  my  sanction,  and  I  have  spe- 
cial reasons  for  thanking  Messrs.  Scribner  for  its 
publication;  they  let  it  be  seen,  by  this  edition, 
what  are  my  books,  for  I  know  not  how  many  vol- 
umes purporting  to  be  by  me,  are  in  circulation  in 
America  which  are  no  books  of  mine.  I  have 
seen  several  of  these,  bearing  such  titles  as  "  Two 
of  Them,"  "An  Auld  Licht  Manse,"  "A  Tillyloss 
Scandal,"  and  some  of  them  announce  themselves 
as  author's  editions,  or  published  by  arrangement 
with  the  author.  They  consist  of  scraps  collected 
and  published  without  my  knowledge,  and  I  en- 
tirely disown  them.  I  have  written  no  books  save 
those  that  appear  in  this  edition. 

I  am  asked  to  write  a  few  lines  on  the  front 
page  of  each  of  these  volumes,  to  say  something, 
as  I  take  it,  about  how  they  came  into  being. 
Well,  they  were  written  mainly  to  please  one 
woman  who  is  now  dead,  but  as  I  am  writing  a 
little  book  about  my  mother  I  shall  say  no  more 
of  her  here. 

vii 


INTRODUCTION 

Many  of  the  chapters  in  "Auld  Licht  Idylls" 
first  apppeared  in  a  different  form  in  the  St.  James's 
Gazette,  and  there  is  little  doubt  that  they  would 
never  have  appeared  anywhere  but  for  the  encour- 
agement given  to  me  by  the  editor  of  that  paper. 
It  was  pressure  from  him  that  induced  me  to  write 
a  second  "  Idyll "  and  a  third  after  I  thought  the 
first  completed  the  picture,  he  set  me  thinking  se- 
riously of  these  people,  and  though  he  knew  no- 
thing of  them  himself,  may  be  said  to  have  led  me 
back  to  them.  It  seems  odd,  and  yet  I  am  not 
the  first  nor  the  fiftieth  who  has  left  Thrums  at 
sunrise  to  seek  the  life-work  that  was  all  the  time 
awaiting  him  at  home.  And  we  seldom  sally  forth 
a  second  time.  I  had  always  meant  to  be  a  novel- 
ist, but  London,  I  thought,  was  the  quarry. 

For  long  I  had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  no  one 
save  the  editor  read  my  contributions,  for  I  was 
leading  a  lonely  life  in  London,  and  not  another 
editor  could  I  find  in  the  land  willing  to  print  the 
Scotch  dialect.  The  magazines,  Scotch  and  Eng- 
lish, would  have  nothing  to  say  to  me  —  I  think  I 
tried  them  all  with  ''  The  Courting  of  T'nowhead's 
Bell,"  but  it  never  found  shelter  until  it  got  within 
book-covers.  In  time,  however,  I  found  another 
paper,  the  Br/t/sb  ireekJy,  with  an  editor  as  bold  as 
my  first  (or  shall  we  say  he  suffered  from  the  same 
infirmity?).  He  revived  my  drooping  hopes,  and 
I  was  again  able  to  turn  to  the  only  kind  of  literary 

viii 


INTRODUCTION 

work  I  now  seemed  to  have  much  interest  in.  He 
let  me  sign  my  articles,  which  was  a  big  step  for 
me  and  led  to  my  having  requests  for  work  from 
elsewhere,  but  always  the  invitations  said  "  not 
Scotch  —  the  public  will  not  read  dialect."  By  this 
time  I  had  put  together  from  these  two  sources 
and  from  my  drawerful  of  rejected  stories  this 
book  of  "Auld  Licht  Idylls,"  and  in  its  collected 
form  it  again  went  the  rounds.  I  offered  it  to  cer- 
tain firms  as  a  gift,  but  they  would  not  have  it 
even  at  that.  And  then,  on  a  day  came  actually 
an  offer  for  it  from  Messrs.  Hodder  and  Stoughton. 
For  this,  and  for  many  another  kindness,  I  had  the 
editor  of  the  British  IVeekly  to  thank.  Thus  the 
book  was  published  at  last,  and  as  for  Messrs. 
Hodder  and  Stoughton  I  simply  dare  not  say  what 
a  generous  firm  I  found  them,  lest  it  send  too 
many  aspirants  to  their  doors.  But,  indeed,  I  have 
had  the  pleasantest  relations  with  all  my  pub- 
lishers. 

"  Better  Dead  "  I  should  have  preferred  not  to 
see  here,  for  it  is  in  no  way  worthy  of  the  beautiful 
clothes  Messrs.  Scribner  have  given  it.  Weighted 
with  "  An  Edinburgh  Eleven  "  it  would  rest  very 
comfortably  in  the  mill  dam,  but  the  publishers 
have  reasons  for  its  inclusion ;  among  them,  I 
suspect,  is  a  well-grounded  fear  that  if  I  once 
began  to  hack  and  hew,  I  should  not  stop  until 
I  had  reduced  the  edition  to  two  volumes.     This 

ix 


INTRODUCTION 

juvenile  effort  is  a  field  of  prickles  into  which 
none  may  be  advised  to  penetrate  —  I  made 
the  attempt  lately  in  cold  blood  and  came  back 
shuddering,  but  I  had  read  enough  to  have  the 
profoundest  reason  for  declining  to  tell  what  the 
book  is  about.  And  yet  I  have  a  sentimental 
interest  in  "  Better  Dead,"  for  it  was  my  first  — 
published  when  I  had  small  hope  of  getting  any 
one  to  accept  the  Scotch  —  and  there  was  a  week 
when  I  loved  to  carry  it  in  my  pocket  and  did  not 
think  it  dead  weight.  Once  I  almost  saw  it  find 
a  purchaser.  She  was  a  pretty  girl  and  it  lay  on  a 
bookstall,  and  she  read  some  pages  and  smiled, 
and  then  retired,  and  came  back  and  began  an- 
other chapter.  Several  times  she  did  this,  and  I 
stood  in  the  background  trembling  with  hope  and 
fear.  At  last  she  went  away  without  the  book, 
but  I  am  still  of  opinion  that,  had  it  been  just  a 
little  bit  better,  she  would  have  bought  it. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

AULD  LIGHT  IDYLLS i 


BETTER  DEAD 


JULD  LICH'T  IDTLLS 

PAGE 

I  THE  SCHOOLHOUSE i 

II  THRUMS 8 

III  THE  AULD  LIGHT  KIRK 46 

IV  LADS  AND  LASSES     .     .     • 72 

V  THE  AULD  LIGHTS  IN  ARMS 87 

VI  THE  OLD  DOMINIE 99 

VII  GREE  QUEERY  AND  MYSY  DROLLY    .     .110 
VIII  THE  GOURTING  OF  T'NOWHEAD'S  BELL  118 
IX  DAVIT  LUNAN'S  POLITIGAL  (  14.8 

REMINISGENGES  i 

X  A  VERY  OLD  FAMILY 155 

XI  LITTLE  RATHIE'S  *'BURAL»     .     .     .     .     .    163 
XII  A  LITERARY  CLUB       173 


BEl'fER  DEAD 

PAGE 

I  ENGAGED? 191 

II  THE  S.  D.  W.  S.  P.? 198 

III  THE  GREAT  SOGIAL  QUESTION?     .  .211 

IV  WOMAN'S  RIGHTS? 22.I 

V  DYNAMITERS? 237 

VI  A  GELEBRITY  AT  HOME? 244 

VII  EXPERIMENTING? 253 

VIII  A  LOST  OPPORTUNITY? 259 

IX  THE  ROOT  OF  THE  MATTER?    ....  267 

X  THE  OLD  OLD  STORY? 274 

xiii 


AULD  LIGHT  IDYLLS 


AULD    LIGHT    IDYLLS 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    SCHOOLHOUSE 

EARLY  this  morning  I  opened  a  window  in 
my  schoolhouse  in  the  glen  of  Ouharity, 
awakened  by  the  shivering  of  a  starving  sparrow 
against  the  frosted  glass.  As  the  snowy  sash 
creaked  in  my  hand,  he  made  off  to  the  water- 
spout that  suspends  its  "  tangles "  of  ice  over  a 
gaping  tank,  and,  rebounding  from  that,  with  a 
quiver  of  his  little  black  breast,  bobbed  through 
the  network  of  wire  and  joined  a  few  of  his  fel- 
lows in  a  forlorn  hop  round  the  henhouse  in 
search  of  food.  Two  days  ago  my  hilarious  ban- 
tam-cock, saucy  to  the  last,  my  cheeriest  compan- 
ion, was  found  frozen  in  his  own  water-trough, 
the  corn-saucer  in  three  pieces  by  his  side.  Since 
then  I  have  taken  the  hens  into  the  house.  At 
meal-times  they  litter  the  hearth  with  each  other's 
feathers;    but  for  the  most  part  they  give  little 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

trouble,  roosting  on  the  rafters  of  the  low-roofed 
kitchen  among  staves  and  fishing-rods. 

Another  white  blanket  has  been  spread  upon 
the  glen  since  I  looked  out  last  night;  for  over 
the  same  wilderness  of  snow  that  has  met  my  gaze 
for  a  week,  I  see  the  steading  of  Waster  Lunny 
sunk  deeper  into  the  waste.  The  schoolhouse,  I 
suppose,  serves  similarly  as  a  snowmark  for  the 
people  at  the  farm.  Unless  that  is  Waster 
Lunny's  grieve  foddering  the  cattle  in  the  snow, 
not  a  living  thing  is  visible.  The  ghostlike  hills 
that  pen  in  the  glen  have  ceased  to  echo  to  the 
sharp  crack  of  the  sportsman's  gun  (so  clear  in  the 
frosty  air  as  to  be  a  warning  to  every  rabbit  and 
partridge  in  the  valley) ;  and  only  giant  Catlaw 
shows  here  and  there  a  black  ridge,  rearing  its 
head  at  the  entrance  to  the  glen  and  struggling 
ineffectually  to  cast  off  his  shroud.  Most  wintry 
sign  of  all,  I  think  as  I  close  the  window  hastily, 
is  the  open  farm-stile,  its  poles  lying  embedded  in 
the  snow  where  they  were  last  flung  by  Waster 
Lunny's  herd.  Through  the  still  air  comes 
from  a  distance  a  vibration  as  of  a  tuning-fork  : 
a  robin,  perhaps,  alighting  on  the  wire  of  a  broken 
fence. 

In  the  warm  kitchen,  where  I  dawdle  over  my 
breakfast,  the  widowed  bantam-hen  has  perched 
on  the  back  of  my  drowsy  cat.  It  is  needless  to 
go  through  the  form  of  opening  the  school  to-day ; 

2 


THE   SCHOOLHOUSE 

for,  with  the  exception  of  Waster  Lunny's  girl, 
I  have  had  no  scholars  for  nine  days.  Yesterday 
she  announced  that  there  would  be  no  more 
schooling  till  it  was  fresh,  "  as  she  wasna  comin' ;  " 
and  indeed,  though  the  smoke  from  the  farm 
chimneys  is  a  pretty  prospect  for  a  snowed-up 
schoolmaster,  the  trudge  between  the  two  houses 
must  be  weary  work  for  a  bairn.  As  for  the  other 
children,  who  have  to  come  from  all  parts  of  the 
hills  and  glen,  I  may  not  see  them  for  weeks.  Last 
year  the  school  was  practically  deserted  for  a 
month.  A  pleasant  outlook,  with  the  March  ex- 
aminations staring  me  in  the  face,  and  an  inspec- 
tor fresh  from  Oxford.  I  wonder  what  he  would 
say  if  he  saw  me  to-day  digging  myself  out  of  the 
schoolhouse  with  the  spade  I  now  keep  for  the 
purpose  in  my  bedroom. 

The  kail  grows  brittle  from  the  snow  in  my 
dank  and  cheerless  garden.  A  crust  of  bread 
gathers  timid  pheasants  round  me.  The  robins,  I 
see,  have  made  the  coalhouse  their  home.  Waster 
Lunny's  dog  never  barks  without  rousing  my 
sluggish  cat  to  a  joyful  response.  It  is  Dutch 
courage  with  the  birds  and  beasts  of  the  glen, 
hard  driven  for  food ;  but  I  look  attentively  for 
them  in  these  long  forenoons,  and  they  have 
begun  to  regard  me  as  one  of  themselves.  My 
breath  freezes,  despite  my  pipe,  as  I  peer  from  the 
door;  and  with  a  fortnight-old  newspaper  I  retire 

3 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

to  the  ingle-nook.  The  friendhest  thing  I  have 
seen  to-day  is  the  well-smoked  ham  suspended 
from  my  kitchen  rafters.  It  was  a  gift  from  the 
farm  of  Tullin,  with  a  load  of  peats,  the  day  be- 
fore the  snow  began  to  fall.  I  doubt  it  I  have 
seen  a  cart  since. 

This  afternoon  I  was  the  not  altogether  passive 
spectator  of  a  curious  scene  in  natural  history. 
My  feet  encased  in  stout  "  tackety  "  boots,  I  had 
waded  down  two  of  Waster  Lunny's  fields  to  the 
glen  burn  :  in  summer  the  never-failing  larder  from 
which,  with  wriggling  worm  or  garish  fly,  I  can 
any  morning  whip  a  savoury  breakfast;  in  the 
winter-time  the  only  thing  in  the  valley  that  defies 
the  ice-king's  chloroform.  I  watched  the  water 
twisting  black  and  solemn  through  the  snow,  the 
ragged  ice  on  its  edge  proof  of  the  toughness  of 
the  struggle  with  the  frost,  from  which  it  has,  after 
all,  crept  only  half  victorious.  A  bare  wild  rose- 
bush on  the  further  bank  was  violently  agitated, 
and  then  there  ran  from  its  root  a  black-headed  rat 
with  wings.  Such  was  the  general  effect.  I  was 
not  less  interested  when  my  startled  eyes  divided 
this  phenomenon  into  its  component  parts,  and  rec- 
ognized in  the  disturbance  on  the  opposite  bank 
only  another  fierce  struggle  among  the  hungry 
animals  for  existence :  they  need  no  professor  to 
teach  them  the  doctrine  of  the  survival  of  the  fit- 
test.    A  weasel  had  gripped  a  water-hen  (whit-rit 

4 


THE    SCHOOLHOUSE 

and  beltie  they  are  called  in  these  parts)  cowering 
at  the  root  of  the  rose-bush,  and  was  being  dragged 
down  the  bank  by  the  terrified  bird,  which  made 
for  the  water  as  its  only  chance  of  escape.  In  less 
disadvantageous  circumstances  the  weasel  would 
have  made  short  work  of  his  victim ;  but  as  he 
only  had  the  bird  by  the  tail,  the  prospects  of  the 
combatants  were  equalized.  It  was  the  tug-of- 
war  being  played  with  a  life  as  the  stakes.  "  If  I 
do  not  reach  the  water,"  was  the  argument  that 
went  on  in  the  heaving  little  breast  of  the  one,  "  I 
am  a  dead  bird."  "  If  this  water-hen,"  reasoned 
the  other,  "  reaches  the  burn,  my  supper  vanishes 
with  her."  Down  the  sloping  bank  the  hen  had 
distinctly  the  best  of  it,  but  after  that  came  a  yard 
of  level  snow,  and  here  she  tugged  and  screamed 
in  vain.  I  had  so  far  been  an  unobserved  specta- 
tor ;  but  my  sympathies  were  with  the  beltie,  and, 
thinking  it  high  time  to  interfere,  I  jumped  into 
the  water.  The  water-hen  gave  one  mighty  final 
tug  and  toppled  into  the  burn;  while  the  weasel 
viciously  showed  me  his  teeth,  and  then  stole  slowly 
up  the  bank  to  the  rose-bush,  whence,  "  girning," 
he  watched  me  lift  his  exhausted  victim  from  the 
water,  and  set  off  with  her  for  the  schoolhouse. 
Except  for  her  draggled  tail,  she  already  looks 
wonderfully  composed,  and  so  long  as  the  frost 
holds  I  shall  have  little  difficulty  in  keeping  her 
with  me.     On  Sunday  I  found  a  frozen  sparrow, 

5 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

whose  heart  had  almost  ceased  to  beat,  in  the  dis- 
used pig-sty,  and  put  him  for  warmth  into  my 
breast-pocket.  The  ungrateful  little  scrub  bolted 
without  a  word  of  thanks  about  ten  minutes  after- 
wards to  the  alarm  of  my  cat,  which  had  not  known 
his  whereabouts. 

I  am  alone  in  the  schoolhouse.  On  just  such 
an  evening  as  this  last  year  my  desolation  drove 
me  to  Waster  Lunny,  where  I  was  storm-stayed  for 
the  night.  The  recollection  decides  me  to  court 
my  own  warm  hearth,  to  challenge  my  right  hand 
again  to  a  game  at  the  "  dambrod  "  against  my 
left.  I  do  not  lock  the  schoolhouse  door  at  nights ; 
for  even  a  highwayman  (there  is  no  such  luck) 
would  be  received  with  open  arms,  and  I  doubt  if 
there  be  a  barred  door  in  all  the  glen.  But  it  is 
cosier  to  put  on  the  shutters.  The  road  to  Thrums 
has  lost  itself  miles  down  the  valley.  I  wonder 
what  they  are  doing  out  in  the  world.  Though  I 
am  the  Free  Church  precentor  in  Thrums  (ten 
pounds  a  year,  and  the  little  town  is  five  miles 
away),  they  have  not  seen  me  for  three  weeks.  A 
packman  whom  I  thawed  yesterday  at  my  kitchen 
fire  tells  me,  that  last  Sabbath  only  the  Auld 
Lichts  held  service.  Other  people  realized  that 
they  were  snowed  up.  Far  up  the  glen,  after  it 
twists  out  of  view,  a  manse  and  half  a  dozen 
thatched  cottages  that  are  there  may  still  show  a 
candle  light,  and  the  crumbling  gravestones  keep 

6 


THE   SCHOOLHOUSE 

cold  vigil  round  the  grey  old  kirk.  Heavy  shad- 
ows fade  into  the  sky  to  the  north.  A  flake  trem- 
bles against  the  window ;  but  it  is  too  cold  for 
much  snow  to-night.  The  shutter  bars  the  outer 
world  from  the  schoolhouse. 


CHAPTER   II 


THRUMS 


Thrums  is  the  name  I  give  here  to  the  handful  of 
houses  jumbled  together  in  a  cup,  which  is  the 
town  nearest  the  schoolhouse.  Until  twenty  years 
ago  its  every  other  room,  earthen-floored  and  show- 
ing the  rafters  overhead,  had  a  handloom,  and  hun- 
dreds of  weavers  lived  and  died  Thoreaus  "  ben  the 
hoose "  without  knowing  it.  In  those  days  the 
cup  overflowed  and  left  several  houses  on  the  top 
of  the  hill,  where  their  cold  skeletons  still  stand. 
The  road  that  climbs  from  the  square,  which  is 
Thrums's  heart,  to  the  north  is  so  steep  and  straight, 
that  in  a  sharp  frost  children  hunker  at  the  top  and 
are  blown  down  with  a  roar  and  a  rush  on  rails  of 
ice.  At  such  times,  when  viewed  from  the  ceme- 
tery where  the  traveller  from  the  schoolhouse  gets 
his  first  glimpse  of  the  little  town,  Thrums  is  but 
two  church  steeples  and  a  dozen  red  stone  patches 
standing  out  of  a  snow-heap.  One  of  the  steeples 
belongs  to  the  new  Free  Kirk,  and  the  other  to  the 
parish  church,  both  of  which  the  first  Auld  Licht 
minister  I  knew  ran  past  when  he  had  not  time  to 

8 


THRUMS 

avoid  them  by  taking  a  back  wynd.  He  was  but 
a  pocket  edition  of  a  man,  who  grew  two  inches 
after  he  was  called ;  but  he  was  so  full  of  the  cure 
of  souls,  that  he  usually  scudded  to  it  with  his  coat- 
tails  quarrelling  behind  him.  His  successor,  whom 
I  knew  better,  was  a  greater  scholar,  and  said,  "  Let 
us  see  what  this  is  in  the  original  Greek,"  as  an 
ordinary  man  might  invite  a  friend  to  dinner ;  but 
he  never  wrestled  as  Mr.  Dishart,  his  successor,  did 
with  the  pulpit  cushions,  nor  flung  himself  at  the 
pulpit  door.  Nor  was  he  so  "  hard  on  the  Book," 
as  Lang  Tammas,  the  precentor,  expressed  it,  mean- 
ing that  he  did  not  bang  the  Bible  with  his  fist  as 
much  as  might  have  been  wished. 

Thrums  had  been  known  to  me  for  years  before 
I  succeeded  the  captious  dominie  at  the  school- 
house  in  the  glen.  The  dear  old  soul  who  origi- 
nally induced  me  to  enter  the  Auld  Licht  kirk  by 
lamenting  the  "  want  of  Christ "  in  the  minister's 
discourses  was  my  first  landlady.  For  the  last  ten 
years  of  her  life  she  was  bedridden,  and  only  her 
interest  in  the  kirk  kept  her  alive.  Her  case  against 
the  minister  was  that  he  did  not  call  to  denounce 
her  sufficiently  often  for  her  sins,  her  pleasure  being 
to  hear  him  bewailing  her  on  his  knees  as  one  who 
was  probably  past  praying  for.  She  was  as  sweet 
and  pure  a  woman  as  I  ever  knew,  and  had  her 
wishes  been  horses,  she  would  have  sold  them  and 
kept  (and  looked  after)  a  minister  herself 

9 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

There  are  few  Auld  Licht  communities  in  Scot- 
land nowadays  —  perhaps  because  people  are  now 
so  well  off,  for  the  most  devout  Auld  Lichts  were 
always  poor,  and  their  last  years  were  generally  a 
grim  struggle  with  the  workhouse.  Many  a  heavy- 
eyed,  back-bent  weaver  has  won  his  Waterloo  in 
Thrums  fighting  on  his  stumps.  There  are  a  score 
or  two  of  them  left  still,  for,  though  there  are  now 
two  factories  in  the  town,  the  clatter  of  the  hand- 
loom  can  yet  be  heard,  and  they  have  been  starv- 
ing themselves  of  late  until  they  have  saved  up 
enough  money  to  get  another  minister. 

The  square  is  packed  away  in  the  centre  of 
Thrums,  and  irregularly  built  little  houses  squeeze 
close  to  it  like  chickens  clustering  round  a  hen. 
Once  the  Auld  Lichts  held  property  in  the  square, 
but  other  denominations  have  bought  them  out  of 
it,  and  now  few  of  them  are  even  to  be  found  in 
the  main  streets  that  make  for  the  rim  of  the  cup. 
They  live  in  the  kirk-wynd,  or  in  retiring  little 
houses  the  builder  of  which  does  not  seem  to  have 
remembered  that  it  is  a  good  plan  to  have  a  road 
leading  to  houses  until  after  they  were  finished. 
Narrow  paths  straggling  round  gardens,  some  ot 
them  with  stunted  gates,  which  it  is  commoner  to 
step  over  than  to  open,  have  been  formed  to  reach 
these  dwellings,  but  in  winter  they  are  running 
streams,  and  then  the  best  way  to  reach  a  house 
such  as  that  of  Tammy  Mealmaker   the  wright, 

10 


THRUMS 

pronounced  wir-icht,  is  over  a  broken  dyke  and  a 
pig-sty.  Tammy,  who  died  a  bachelor,  had  been 
soured  in  his  youth  by  a  disappointment  in  love, 
of  which  he  spoke  but  seldom.  She  lived  far  away 
in  a  town  to  which  he  had  wandered  in  the  days 
when  his  blood  ran  hot,  and  they  became  engaged. 
Unfortunately,  however.  Tammy  forgot  her  name, 
and  he  never  knew  the  address ;  so  there  the  affair 
ended,  to  his  silent  grief  He  admitted  himself, 
over  his  snuff-mull  of  an  evening,  that  he  w^as  a 
very  ordinary  character,  but  a  certain  halo  of  hor- 
ror was  cast  over  the  whole  family  by  their  con- 
nection with  little  Joey  Sutie,  who  was  pointed  at 
in  Thrums  as  the  laddie  that  whistled  when  he  went 
past  the  minister.  Joey  became  a  pedlar,  and  was 
found  dead  one  raw  morning  dangling  over  a  high 
wall  within  a  few  miles  of  Thrums.  When  climb- 
ing the  dyke  his  pack  had  slipped  back,  the  strap 
round  his  neck,  and  choked  him. 

You  could  generally  tell  an  Auld  Licht  in 
Thrums  when  you  passed  him,  his  dull  vacant  face 
wrinkled  over  a  heavy  wob.  He  wore  tags  of  yarn 
round  his  trousers  beneath  the  knee,  that  looked 
like  ostentatious  garters,  and  frequently  his  jacket 
of  corduroy  was  put  on  beneath  his  waistcoat.  If 
he  was  too  old  to  carry  his  load  on  his  back,  he 
wheeled  it  on  a  creaking  barrow,  and  when  he  met 
a  friend  they  said,  "  Ay,  Jeames,"  and  "  Ay,  Davit," 
and  then  could  think  of  nothing  else.     At  long 

11 


AULD    LIGHT    IDYLLS 

intervals  they  passed  through  the  square,  disap- 
pearing or  coming  into  sight  round  the  town-house 
which  stands  on  the  south  side  of  it,  and  guards 
the  entrance  to  a  steep  brae  that  leads  down  and 
then  twists  up  on  its  lonely  way  to  the  county 
town.  I  like  to  linger  over  the  square,  for  it  was 
from  an  upper  window  in  it  that  I  got  to  know 
Thrums.  On  Saturday  nights,  when  the  Auld 
Licht  young  men  came  into  the  square  dressed  and 
washed  to  look  at  the  young  women  errand-going, 
and  to  laugh  sometime  afterwards  to  each  other,  it 
presented  a  glare  of  light ;  and  here  even  came  the 
cheap  jacks  and  the  Fair  Circassian,  and  the  show- 
man, who,  besides  playing  "  The  Mountain  Maid 
and  the  Shepherd's  Bride,"  exhibited  part  of  the 
tail  of  Balaam's  ass,  the  helm  of  Noah's  ark,  and 
the  tartan  plaid  in  which  Flora  McDonald  wrapped 
Prince  Charlie.  More  select  entertainment,  such  as 
Shuffle  Kitty's  waxwork,  whose  motto  was,  "  A  rag 
to  pay,  and  in  you  go,"  were  given  in  a  hall  whose 
approach  was  by  an  outside  stair.  On  the  Muckle 
Friday,  the  fair  for  which  children  storing  their 
pocket  money  would  accumulate  sevenpence-halt- 
penny  in  less  than  six  months,  the  square  was 
crammed  with  gingerbread  stalls,  bag-pipers,  fid- 
dlers, and  monstrosities  who  were  gifted  with  sec- 
ond sight.  There  was  a  bearded  man,  who  had 
neither  legs  nor  arms,  and  was  drawn  through  the 
streets  in  a  small  cart  by  four  dogs.     By  looking 


THRUMS 

at  you  he  could  see  all  the  clockwork  inside,  as 
could  a  boy  who  was  led  about  by  his  mother  at 
the  end  of  a  string.  Every  Friday  there  was  the 
market,  when  a  dozen  ramshackle  carts  containing 
vegetables  and  cheap  crockery  filled  the  centre  of 
the  square,  resting  in  line  on  their  shafts.  A  score 
of  farmers'  wives  or  daughters  in  old-world  gar- 
ments squatted  against  the  town-house  within  walls 
of  butter  on  cabbage-leaves,  eggs  and  chickens. 
Towards  evening  the  voice  of  the  buckie-man 
shook  the  square,  and  rival  fish-cadgers,  terrible 
characters  who  ran  races  on  horseback,  screamed 
libels  at  each  other  over  a  fruiterer's  barrow.  Then 
it  was  time  for  douce  Auld  Lichts  to  go  home, 
draw  their  stools  near  the  fire,  spread  their  red 
handkerchiefs  over  their  legs  to  prevent  their 
trousers  getting  singed,  and  read  their  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress." 

In  my  schoolhouse,  however,  I  seem  to  see  the 
square  most  readily  in  the  Scotch  mist  which  so 
often  filled  it,  loosening  the  stones  and  choking 
the  drains.  There  was  then  no  rattle  of  rain  against 
my  window-sill,  nor  dancing  of  diamond  drops  on 
the  roofs,  but  blobs  of  water  grew  on  the  panes  of 
glass  to  reel  heavily  down  them.  Then  the  sodden 
square  would  have  shed  abundant  tears  if  you 
could  have  taken  it  in  your  hands  and  wrung  it 
like  a  dripping  cloth.  At  such  a  time  the  square 
would  be  empty  but  for  one  vegetable  cart  left  in 

13 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

the  care  of  a  lean  collie,  which,  tied  to  the  wheel, 
whined  and  shivered  underneath.  Pools  of  water 
gather  in  the  coarse  sacks,  that  have  been  spread 
over  the  potatoes  and  bundles  of  greens,  which 
turn  to  manure  in  their  lidless  barrels.  The  eyes 
of  the  whimpering  dog  never  leave  a  black  close 
over  which  hangs  the  sign  of  the  Bull,  probably 
the  refuge  of  the  hawker.  At  long  intervals  a 
farmer's  gig  rumbles  over  the  bumpy,  ill-paved 
square,  or  a  native,  with  his  head  buried  in  his  coat, 
peeps  out  of  doors,  skurries  across  the  way,  and 
vanishes.  Most  of  the  leading  shops  are  here,  and 
the  decorous  draper  ventures  a  few  yards  from  the 
pavement  to  scan  the  sky,  or  note  the  effect  of  his 
new  arrangement  in  scarves.  Planted  against  his 
door  is  the  butcher,  Henders  Todd,  white-aproned, 
and  with  a  knife  in  his  hand,  gazing  interestedly 
at  the  draper,  for  a  mere  man  may  look  at  an  elder. 
The  tinsmith  brings  out  his  steps,  and,  mounting 
them,  stealthily  removes  the  saucepans  and  pepper- 
pots  that  dangle  on  a  wire  above  his  sign-board. 
Pulling  to  his  door  he  shuts  out  the  foggy  light 
that  showed  in  his  solder-strewn  workshop.  The 
square  is  deserted  again.  A  bundle  of  sloppy  pars- 
ley slips  from  the  hawker's  cart  and  topples  over 
the  wheel  in  driblets.  The  puddles  in  the  sacks 
overflow  and  run  together.  The  dog  has  twisted 
his  chain  round  a  barrel  and  yelps  sharply.  As  if 
in  response  comes  a  rush  of  other  dogs.     A  terri- 

14 


THRUMS 

fied  fox-terrier  tears  across  the  square  with  half  a 
score  of  mongrels,  the  butcher's  mastiff  and  some 
collies  at  his  heels;  he  is  doubtless  a  stranger  who 
has  insulted  them  by  his  glossy  coat.  For  two 
seconds  the  square  shakes  to  an  invasion  of  dogs, 
and  then,  again,  there  is  only  one  dog  in  sight. 

No  one  will  admit  the  Scotch  mist.  It  "  looks 
saft."  The  tinsmith  "  wudna  wonder  but  what  it 
was  makkin  for  rain."  Tammas  Haggart  and  Pete 
Lunan  dander  into  sight  bareheaded,  and  have  to 
stretch  out  their  hands  to  discover  what  the  weather 
is  like.  By  and  by  they  come  to  a  standstill  to 
discuss  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  then  they 
are  looking  silently  at  the  Bull.  Neither  speaks, 
but  they  begin  to  move  toward  the  inn  at  the  same 
time,  and  its  door  closes  on  them  before  they  know 
what  they  are  doing.  A  few  minutes  afterwards 
Jinny  Dundas,  who  is  Pete's  wife,  runs  straight  for 
the  Bull  in  her  short  gown,  which  is  tucked  up 
very  high,  and  emerges  with  her  husband  soon 
afterwards.  Jinny  is  voluble,  but  Pete  says  noth- 
ing. Tammas  follows  later,  putting  his  head  out 
at  the  door  first,  and  looking  cautiously  about  him 
to  see  if  any  one  is  in  sight.  Pete  is  a  U.  P.,  and 
may  be  left  to  his  fate,  but  the  Auld  Licht  minister 
thinks  that  though  it  be  hard  work,  Tammas  is 
worth  saving. 

To  the  Auld  Licht  of  the  past  there  were  three 
degrees    of  damnation  —  auld    kirk,   play-acting, 

15 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

chapel.  Chapel  was  the  name  always  given  to 
the  English  Church,  of  which  I  am  too  much  an 
Auld  Licht  myself  to  care  to  write  even  now.  To 
belong  to  the  chapel  was,  in  Thrums,  to  be  a 
Roman  Catholic,  and  the  boy  who  flung  a  clod 
of  earth  at  the  English  minister  —  who  called  the 
Sabbath  Sunday  —  or  dropped  a  "  divet  "  down  his 
chimney  was  held  to  be  in  the  right  way.  The 
only  pleasant  story  Thrums  could  tell  of  the 
chapel  was  that  its  steeple  once  fell.  It  is  sur- 
prising that  an  English  church  was  ever  suffered 
to  be  built  in  such  a  place ;  though  probably  the 
county  gentry  had  something  to  do  with  it.  They 
travelled  about  too  much  to  be  good  men.  Small 
though  Thrums  used  to  be,  it  had  four  kirks  in 
all  before  the  Disruption,  and  then  another,  which 
split  into  two  immediately  afterwards.  The  spire 
of  the  parish  church,  known  as  the  auld  kirk, 
commands  a  view  of  the  square,  from  which  the 
entrance  to  the  kirkyard  would  be  visible,  it  it 
were  not  hidden  by  the  town-house.  The  kirk- 
yard has  long  been  crammed,  and  is  not  now  in 
use,  but  the  church  is  sufficiently  large  to  hold 
nearly  all  the  congregations  in  Thrums.  Just  at 
the  gate  lived  Pete  Todd,  the  father  of  Sam'l,  a 
man  of  whom  the  Auld  Lichts  had  reason  to  be 
proud.  Pete  was  an  every-day  man  at  ordinary 
times,  and  was  even  said,  when  his  wife,  who  had 
been  long  ill,  died,  to  have  clapped  his  hands  and 

16 


THRUMS 

exclaimed,  "  Hip,  hip,  hurrah  I "  adding  only  as 
an  afterthought,  ''  The  Lord's  will  be  done."  But 
midsummer  was  his  great  opportunity.  Then 
took  place  the  rouping  of  the  seats  in  the  parish 
church.  The  scene  was  the  kirk  itself,  and  the 
seats  being  put  up  to  auction  were  knocked  down 
to  the  highest  bidder.  This  sometimes  led  to  the 
breaking  of  the  peace.  Every  person  was  present 
who  was  at  all  particular  as  to  where  he  sat,  and 
an  auctioneer  was  engaged  for  the  day.  He 
rouped  the  kirk-seats  like  potato-drills,  beginning 
by  asking  for  a  bid.  Every  seat  was  put  up  to 
auction  separately;  for  some  were  much  more 
run  after  than  others,  and  the  men  were  instructed 
by  their  wives  what  to  bid  for.  Often  the  women 
joined  in,  and  as  they  bid  excitedly  against  each 
other  the  church  rang  with  opprobrious  epithets. 
A  man  would  come  to  the  roup  late,  and  learn 
that  the  seat  he  wanted  had  been  knocked 
down.  He  maintained  that  he  had  been  unfairly 
treated,  or  denounced  the  local  laird  to  whom  the 
seat-rents  went.  If  he  did  not  get  the  seat  he 
would  leave  the  kirk.  Then  the  woman  who 
had  forestalled  him  wanted  to  know  what  he 
meant  by  glaring  at  her  so,  and  the  auction  was 
interrupted.  Another  member  would  "  thrip  down 
the  throat "  of  the  auctioneer  that  he  had  a  right 
to  his  former  seat  if  he  continued  to  pay  the  same 
price  for  it.     The  auctioneer  was  screamed  at  for 

17 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

favouring  his  friends,  and  at  times  the  roup  became 
so  noisy  that  men  and  women  had  to  be  forcibly 
ejected.  Then  was  Pete's  chance.  Hovering  at 
the  gate,  he  caught  the  angry  people  on  their  way 
home  and  took  them  into  his  workshop  by  an 
outside  stair.  There  he  assisted  them  in  de- 
nouncing the  parish  kirk,  with  the  view  of  getting 
them  to  forswear  it.  Pete  made  a  good  many 
Auld  Lichts  in  his  time  out  of  unpromising 
material. 

Sights  were  to  be  witnessed  in  the  parish  church 
at  times  that  could  not  have  been  made  more  im- 
pressive by  the  Auld  Lichts  themselves.  Here 
sinful  women  were  grimly  taken  to  task  by  the 
minister,  who,  having  thundered  for  a  time  against 
adultery  in  general,  called  upon  one  sinner  in 
particular  to  stand  forth.  She  had  to  step  forward 
into  a  pew  near  the  pulpit,  where,  alone  and 
friendless,  and  stared  at  by  the  congregation,  she 
cowered  in  tears  beneath  his  denunciations.  In 
that  seat  she  had  to  remain  during  the  forenoon 
service.  She  returned  home  alone,  and  had  to 
come  back  alone  to  her  solitary  seat  in  the  after- 
noon. All  day  no  one  dared  speak  to  her.  She 
was  as  much  an  object  of  contumely  as  the  thieves 
and  smugglers  whom,  in  the  end  of  last  century, 
it  was  the  privilege  of  Feudal  Bailie  Wood  (as 
he  was  called)  to  whip  round  the  square. 

It  is  nearly  twenty  years  since  the  gardeners 
18 


THRUMS 

had  their  last  ''  walk  "  in  Thrums,  and  they  sur- 
vived all  the  other  benefit  societies  that  walked 
once  every  summer.  There  was  a  "  weavers' 
walk  "  and  five  or  six  others,  the  ''women's  walk  " 
being  the  most  picturesque.  These  were  proces- 
sions of  the  members  of  benefit  societies  through 
the  square  and  wynds,  and  all  the  women  walked 
in  white,  to  the  number  of  a  hundred  or  more, 
behind  the  Tilliedrum  band.  Thrums  having  in 
those  days  no  band  of  its  own. 

From  the  north-west  corner  of  the  square  a 
narrow  street  sets  off,  jerking  this  way  and  that 
as  if  uncertain  what  point  to  make  for.  Here 
lurks  the  post-office,  which  had  once  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  as  crooked  in  its  ways  as  the  street 
itself 

A  railway  line  runs  into  Thrums  now.  The 
sensational  days  of  the  post-office  were  when  the 
letters  were  conveyed  officially  in  a  creaking  old 
cart  from  Tilliedrum.  The  "  pony "  had  seen 
better  days  than  the  cart,  and  always  looked  as  if 
he  were  just  on  the  point  of  succeeding  in  run- 
ning away  from  it.  Hooky  Crewe  was  driver; 
so-called  because  an  iron  hook  was  his  substitute 
for  a  right  arm  :  Robbie  Proctor,  the  blacksmith, 
made  the  hook  and  fixed  it  in.  Crewe  suffered 
from  rheumatism,  and  when  he  felt  it  coming  on 
he  stayed  at  home.  Sometimes  his  cart  came  un- 
done  in  a    snowdrift;    when   Hooky,   extricated 

19 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

from  the  fragments  by  some  chance  wayfarer,  was 
deposited  with  his  mail-bag  (of  which  he  always 
kept  a  grip  by  the  hook)  in  a  farm-house.  It  was 
his  boast  that  his  letters  always  reached  their  des- 
tination eventually.  They  might  be  a  long  time 
about  it,  but  "slow  and  sure"  was  his  motto. 
Hooky  emphasized  his  "  slow  and  sure "  by 
taking  a  snufF.  He  was  a  godsend  to  the  post- 
mistress, for  to  his  failings  or  the  infirmities  of 
his  gig  were  charged  all  delays. 

At  the  time  I  write  of,  the  posting  of  the  letter 
took  as  long  and  was  as  serious  an  undertaking 
as  the  writing.  That  means  a  good  deal,  for  many 
of  the  letters  were  written  to  dictation  by  the 
Thrums  schoolmaster,  Mr.  Fleemister,  who  be- 
longed to  the  Auld  Kirk.  He  was  one  of  the  few 
persons  in  the  community  who  looked  upon  the 
despatch  of  his  letters  by  the  postmistress  as  his 
right,  and  not  a  favour  on  her  part;  there  was  a 
long-standing  feud  between  them  accordingly. 
After  a  few  tumblers  of  Widow  Stables's  treacle- 
beer  —  in  the  concoction  of  which  she  was  the  ac- 
knowledged mistress  for  miles  around  —  the  school- 
master would  sometimes  go  the  length  of  hinting 
that  he  could  get  the  postmistress  dismissed  any 
day.  This  mighty  power  seemed  to  rest  on  a 
knowledge  of  "  steamed  "  letters.  Thrums  had  a 
high  respect  for  the  schoolmaster ;  but  among  them- 
selves the  weavers  agreed  that,  even  if  he  did  write 

20 


THRUMS 

to  the  Government,  Lizzie  Harrison,  the  postmis- 
tress, would  refuse  to  transmit  the  letter.  The 
more  shrewd  ones  among  us  kept  friends  with  both 
parties;  for,  unless  you  could  write  "writ-hand," 
you  could  not  compose  a  letter  without  the  school- 
master's assistance ;  and,  unless  Lizzie  was  so  cour- 
teous as  to  send  it  to  its  destination,  it  might  lie  — 
or  so  it  was  thought  —  much  too  long  in  the  box. 
A  letter  addressed  by  the  schoolmaster  found  great 
disfavour  in  Lizzie's  eyes.  You  might  explain  to 
her  that  you  had  merely  called  in  his  assistance 
because  you  were  a  poor  hand  at  writing  yourself, 
but  that  was  held  no  excuse.  Some  addressed 
their  own  envelopes  with  much  labour,  and  sought 
to  palm  off  the  whole  as  their  handiwork.  It  re- 
flects on  the  postmistress  somewhat  that  she  had 
generally  found  them  out  by  next  day,  when,  if  in 
a  specially  vixenish  mood,  she  did  not  hesitate  to 
upbraid  them  for  their  perfidy. 

To  post  a  letter  you  did  not  merely  saunter  to 
the  post-office  and  drop  it  into  the  box.  The  cau- 
tious correspondent  first  went  into  the  shop  and 
explained  to  Lizzie  how  matters  stood.  She  kept 
what  she  called  a  bookseller's  shop  as  well  as  the 
post-office ;  but  the  supply  of  books  corresponded 
exactly  to  the  lack  of  demand  for  them,  and  her 
chief  trade  was  in  nicknacks,  from  marbles  and 
money-boxes  up  to  concertinas.  If  he  found  the 
postmistress  in  an  amiable  mood,  which  was  only 

21 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

now  and  then,  the  caller  led  up  craftily  to  the  ob- 
ject of  his  visit.  Having  discussed  the  weather 
and  the  potato-disease,  he  explained  that  his  sister 
Mary,  whom  Lizzie  would  remember,  had  married 
a  fishmonger  in  Dundee.  The  fishmonger  had 
lately  started  on  himself  and  was  doing  well.  They 
had  four  children.  The  youngest  had  had  a  severe 
attack  of  measles.  No  news  had  been  got  of  Mary 
for  twelve  months;  and  Annie,  his  other  sister, 
who  lived  in  Thrums,  had  been  at  him  of  late  for 
not  writing.  So  he  had  written  a  few  lines ;  and, 
in  fact,  he  had  the  letter  with  him.  The  letter  was 
then  produced,  and  examined  by  the  postmistress. 
If  the  address  was  in  the  schoolmaster's  handwrit- 
ing, she  professed  her  inability  to  read  it.  Was 
this  a  /f  or  an  /  or  an  i?  was  that  a  <^  or  a  d?  This 
was  a  cruel  revenge  on  Lizzie's  part ;  for  the  sen- 
der of  the  letter  was  completely  at  her  mercy.  The 
schoolmaster's  name  being  tabooed  in  her  presence, 
he  was  unable  to  explain  that  the  writing  was  not 
his  own ;  and  as  for  deciding  between  the  /  's  and 
/'s,  he  could  not  do  it.  Eventually  he  would  be 
directed  to  put  the  letter  into  the  box.  They 
would  do  their  best  with  it,  Lizzie  said,  but  in  a 
voice  that  suggested  how  little  hope  she  had  of  her 
efforts  to  decipher  it  proving  successful. 

There  was  an  opinion  among  some  of  the  people 
that  the  letter  should  not  be  stamped  by  the 
sender.     The  proper  thing  to  do  was  to  drop  a 

22 


THRUMS 

penny  for  the  stamp  into  the  box  along  with  the 
letter,  and  then  Lizzie  would  see  that  it  was  all 
right.  Lizzie's  acquaintance  with  the  handwriting 
of  every  person  in  the  place  who  could  write  gave 
her  a  great  advantage.  You  would  perhaps  drop 
into  her  shop  some  day  to  make  a  purchase,  when 
she  would  calmly  produce  a  letter  you  had  posted 
several  days  before.  In  explanation  she  would 
tell  you  that  you  had  not  put  a  stamp  on  it,  or 
that  she  suspected  there  was  money  in  it,  or  that 
you  had  addressed  it  to  the  wrong  place.  I  re- 
member an  old  man,  a  relative  of  my  own,  who 
happened  for  once  in  his  life  to  have  several  letters 
to  post  at  one  time.  The  circumstance  was  so  out 
of  the  common  that  he  considered  it  only  reasonable 
to  make  Lizzie  a  small  present. 

Perhaps  the  postmistress  was  belied ;  but  if  she 
did  not  "  steam  "  the  letters  and  confide  their  tit- 
bits to  favoured  friends  of  her  own  sex,  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  see  how  all  the  gossip  got  out.  The  school- 
master once  played  an  unmanly  trick  on  her,  with 
the  view  of  catching  her  in  the  act.  He  was  a 
bachelor  who  had  long  been  given  up  by  all  the 
maids  in  the  town.  One  day,  however,  he  wrote 
a  letter  to  an  imaginary  lady  in  the  county-town, 
asking  her  to  be  his,  and  going  into  full  particulars 
about  his  income,  his  age,  and  his  prospects.  A 
male  friend  in  the  secret,  at  the  other  end,  was  to 
reply,  in  a  lady's  handwriting,  accepting  him,  and 

23 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

also  giving  personal  particulars.  The  first  letter 
was  written ;  and  an  answer  arrived  in  due  course 
—  two  days,  the  schoolmaster  said,  after  date.  No 
other  person  knew  of  this  scheme  for  the  undoing 
of  the  postmistress,  yet  in  a  very  short  time  the 
schoolmaster's  coming  marriage  was  the  talk  of 
Thrums.  Everybody  became  suddenly  aware  of 
the  lady's  name,  of  her  abode,  and  of  the  sum  of 
money  she  was  to  bring  her  husband.  It  was  even 
noised  abroad  that  the  schoolmaster  had  repre- 
sented his  age  as  a  good  ten  years  less  than  it  was. 
Then  the  schoolmaster  divulged  everything.  To 
his  mortification,  he  was  not  quite  believed.  All 
the  proof  he  could  bring  forward  to  support  his 
story  was  this :  that  time  would  show  whether  he  got 
married  or  not.  Foolish  man  I  this  argument  was 
met  by  another,  which  was  accepted  at  once.  The 
lady  had  jilted  the  schoolmaster.  Whether  this 
explanation  came  from  the  post-office,  who  shall 
say  ?  But  so  long  as  he  lived  the  schoolmaster  was 
twitted  about  the  lady  who  threw  him  over.  He 
took  his  revenge  in  two  ways.  He  wrote  and 
posted  letters  exceedingly  abusive  of  the  postmis- 
tress. The  matter  might  be  libellous;  but  then, 
as  he  pointed  out,  she  would  incriminate  herself 
if  she  "  brought  him  up "  about  it.  Probably 
Lizzie  felt  his  other  insult  more.  By  publishing 
his  suspicions  of  her  on  every  possible  occasion  he 
got  a  few  people  to  seal  their  letters.     So  bitter 

24 


THRUMS 

was  his  feeling  against  her  that  he  was  even  will- 
ing to  supply  the  wax. 

They  know  all  about  post-offices  in  Thrums 
now,  and  even  jeer  at  the  telegraph-boy's  uniform. 
In  the  old  days  they  gathered  round  him  when  he 
was  seen  in  the  street,  and  escorted  him  to  his  des- 
tination in  triumph.  That,  too,  was  after  Lizzie 
had  gone  the  way  of  all  the  earth.  But  perhaps  they 
are  not  even  yet  as  knowing  as  they  think  them- 
selves. I  was  told  the  other  day  that  one  of  them 
took  out  a  postal  order,  meaning  to  send  the  money 
to  a  relative,  and  kept  the  order  as  a  receipt. 

I  have  said  that  the  town  is  sometimes  full  of 
snow.  One  frosty  Saturday,  seven  years  ago,  I 
trudged  into  it  from  the  schoolhouse,  and  on  the 
Monday  morning  we  could  not  see  Thrums  any- 
where. 

I  was  in  one  of  the  proud  two-storied  houses  in 
the  place,  and  could  have  shaken  hands  with  my 
friends  without  from  the  upper  windows.  To  get 
out  of  doors  you  had  to  walk  upstairs.  The  out- 
look was  a  sea  of  snow  fading  into  white  hills  and 
sky  with  the  quarry  standing  out  red  and  ragged 
to  the  right  like  a  rock  in  the  ocean.  The  Auld 
Licht  manse  was  gone,  but  had  left  its  garden- 
trees  behind,  their  lean  branches  soft  with  snow. 
Roofs  were  humps  in  the  white  blanket.  The 
spire  of  the  Established  Kirk  stood  up  cold  and 
stiff,  like  a  monument  to  the  buried  inhabitants. 

25 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

Those  of  the  natives  who  had  taken  the  precau- 
tion of  conveying  spades  into  their  houses  the 
night  before,  which  is  my  plan  at  the  schoolhouse, 
dug  themselves  out.  They  hobbled  cautiously 
over  the  snow,  sometimes  sinking  into  it  to  their 
knees,  when  they  stood  still  and  slowly  took  in  the 
situation.  It  had  been  snowing  more  or  less  for  a 
week,  but  in  a  commonplace  kind  of  way,  and 
they  had  gone  to  bed  thinking  all  was  well.  This 
night  the  snow  must  have  fallen  as  if  the  heavens 
had  opened  up,  determined  to  shake  themselves 
free  of  it  for  ever. 

The  man  who  first  came  to  himself  and  saw  what 
was  to  be  done  was  young  Renders  Ramsay.  Ren- 
ders had  no  fixed  occupation,  being  but  an  "  orra 
man  "  about  the  place,  and  the  best  thing  known 
of  him  is  that  his  mother's  sister  was  a  Baptist.  Re 
feared  God,  man,  nor  the  minister;  and  all  the 
learning  he  had  was  obtained  from  assiduous  study 
of  a  grocer's  window.  But  for  one  brief  day  he 
had  things  his  own  way  in  the  town,  or,  speak- 
ing strictly,  on  the  top  of  it.  With  a  spade,  a 
broom,  and  a  pickaxe,  which  sat  lightly  on  his 
broad  shoulders  (he  was  not  even  back-bent,  and 
that  showed  him  no  respectable  weaver).  Renders 
delved  his  way  to  the  nearest  house,  which  formed 
one  of  a  row,  and  addressed  the  inmates  down  the 
chimney.  They  had  already  been  clearing  it  at 
the    other    end,  or    his   words   would    have   been 

26 


THRUMS 

choked.  "  You're  snawed  up,  Davit,"  cried  Hen- 
ders,  in  a  voice  that  was  entirely  businesslike ; 
"  hae  ye  a  spade  ?  "  A  conversation  ensued  up 
and  down  this  unusual  channel  of  communication. 
The  unlucky  householder,  taking  no  thought  ot 
the  morrow,  was  without  a  spade.  But  if  Renders 
would  clear  away  the  snow  from  his  door  he  would 
be  "  varra  obleeged."  Renders,  however,  had  to 
come  to  terms  first.  "  The  chairge  is  saxpence, 
Davit,"  he  shouted.  Then  a  haggling  ensued. 
Renders  must  be  neighbourly.  A  plate  of  broth, 
now  —  or,  say,  twopence.  But  Renders  was  ob- 
durate. "  I'se  nae  time  to  argy-bargy  wi'  ye, 
Davit.  Gin  ye're  no  willin'  to  say  saxpence, 
I'm  aff  to  Will'um  Pyatt's.  Re's  buried  too." 
So  the  victim  had  to  make  up  his  mind  to  one  of 
two  things :  he  must  either  say  saxpence  or  re- 
main where  he  was. 

If  Renders  was  "promised,"  he  took  good  care 
that  no  sno wed-up  inhabitant  should  perjure  him- 
self He  made  his  way  to  a  window  first,  and, 
clearing  the  snow  from  the  top  of  it,  pointed  out 
that  he  could  not  conscientiously  proceed  further 
until  the  debt  had  been  paid.  "  Money  doon,"  he 
cried,  as  soon  as  he  reached  a  pane  of  glass ;  or, 
''Come  awa  wi'  my  saxpence  noo." 

The  belief  that  this  day  had  not  come  to  Ren- 
ders unexpectedly  was  borne  out  by  the  method 
of  the  crafty  callant.      His  charges  varied  from 

27 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

sixpence  to  half-a-crown,  according  to  the  wealth 
and  status  of  his  victims;  and  when,  later  on,  there 
were  rivals  in  the  snow,  he  had  the  discrimination 
to  reduce  his  minimum  fee  to  threepence.  He 
had  the  honour  of  digging  out  three  ministers  at 
one  shilling,  one  and  threepence,  and  two  shillings 
respectively. 

Half  a  dozen  times  within  the  next  fortnight 
the  town  was  reburied  in  snow.  This  generally 
happened  in  the  night-time ;  but  the  inhabitants 
were  not  to  be  caught  unprepared  again.  Spades 
stood  ready  to  their  hands  in  the  morning,  and 
they  fought  their  way  above  ground  without  Hen- 
ders  Ramsay's  assistance.  To  clear  the  snow  from 
the  narrow  wynds  and  pends,  however,  was  a  task 
not  to  be  attempted ;  and  the  Auld  Lichts,  at  least, 
rested  content  when  enough  light  got  into  their 
workshops  to  let  them  see  where  their  looms  stood. 
Wading  through  beds  of  snow  they  did  not  much 
mind ;  but  they  wondered  what  would  happen  to 
their  houses  when  the  thaw  came. 

The  thaw  was  slow  in  coming.  Snow  during 
the  night  and  several  degrees  of  frost  by  day  were 
what  Thrums  began  to  accept  as  a  revised  order 
of  nature.  Vainly  the  Thrums  doctor,  whose 
practice  extends  into  the  glens,  made  repeated  at- 
tempts to  reach  his  distant  patients,  twice  driving 
so  far  into  the  dreary  waste  that  he  could  neither 
go  on  nor  turn  back.     A  ploughman  who  con- 

28       . 


THRUMS 

trived  to  gallop  ten  miles  for  him  did  not  get 
home  for  a  week.  Between  the  town,  which  is 
nowadays  an  agricultural  centre  of  some  import- 
ance, and  the  outlying  farms  communication  was 
cut  off  for  a  month ;  and  I  heard  subsequently  of 
one  farmer  who  did  not  see  a  human  being,  un- 
connected with  his  own  farm,  for  seven  weeks. 
The  schoolhouse,  which  I  managed  to  reach  only 
two  days  behind  time,  was  closed  for  a  fortnight, 
and  even  in  Thrums  there  was  only  a  sprinkling 
of  scholars. 

On  Sundays  the  feeling  between  the  different 
denominations  ran  high,  and  the  middling  good 
folk  who  did  not  go  to  church  counted  those  who 
did.  In  the  Established  Church  there  was  a  sparse 
gathering,  who  waited  in  vain  for  the  minister. 
After  a  time  it  got  abroad  that  a  flag  of  distress 
was  flying  from  the  manse,  and  then  they  saw  that 
the  minister  was  storm-stayed.  An  office-bearer 
offered  to  conduct  service ;  but  the  others  present 
thought  they  had  done  their  duty  and  went  home. 
The  U.  P.  bell  did  not  ring  at  all,  and  the  kirk 
gates  were  not  opened.  The  Free  Kirk  did 
bravely,  however.  The  attendance  in  the  fore- 
noon amounted  to  seven,  including  the  minister; 
but  in  the  afternoon  there  was  a  turn-out  of  up- 
wards of  fifty.  How  much  denominational  com- 
petition had  to  do  with  this,  none  can  say;  but 
the  general  opinion  was  that  this  muster  to  after- 

29 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

noon  service  was  a  piece  of  vainglory.  Next 
Sunday  all  the  kirks  were  on  their  mettle,  and, 
though  the  snow  was  drifting  the  whole  day,  ser- 
vices were  general.  It  was  felt  that  after  the  action 
of  the  Free  Kirk  the  Establisheds  and  the  U.  P.'s 
must  show  what  they  too  were  capable  of  So, 
when  the  bells  rang  at  eleven  o'clock  and  two, 
church-goers  began  to  pour  out  of  every  close.  If 
I  remember  aright,  the  victory  lay  with  the  U.  P.'s 
by  two  women  and  a  boy.  Of  course  the  Auld 
Lichts  mustered  in  as  great  force  as  ever.  The 
other  kirks  never  dreamt  of  competing  with  them. 
What  was  regarded  as  a  judgment  on  the  Free 
Kirk  for  its  boastfulness  of  spirit  on  the  preceding 
Sunday  happened  during  the  forenoon.  While 
the  service  was  taking  place  a  huge  clod  of  snow 
slipped  from  the  roof  and  fell  right  against  the 
church  door.  It  was  some  time  before  the  pris- 
oners could  make  up  their  minds  to  leave  by  the 
windows.  What  the  Auld  Lichts  would  have 
done  in  a  similar  predicament  I  cannot  even  con- 
jecture. 

That  was  the  first  warning  of  the  thaw.  It  froze 
again ;  there  was  more  snow ;  the  thaw  began  in 
earnest;  and  then  the  streets  were  a  sight  to  see. 
There  was  no  traffic  to  turn  the  snow  to  slush,  and, 
where  it  had  not  been  piled  up  in  walls  a  few  feet 
from  the  houses,  it  remained  in  the  narrow  ways 
till  it  became  a  lake.     It  tried  to  escape  through 

30 


THRUMS 

doorways,  when  it  sank  slowly  into  the  floors. 
Gentle  breezes  created  a  ripple  on  its  surface,  and 
strong  winds  lifted  it  into  the  air  and  flung  it 
against  the  houses.  It  undermined  the  heaps  of 
clotted  snow  till  they  tottered  like  icebergs  and  fell 
to  pieces.  Men  made  their  way  through  it  on 
stilts.  Had  a  frost  followed,  the  result  would  have 
been  appalling;  but  there  was  no  more  frost  that 
winter.  A  fortnight  passed  before  the  place  looked 
itself  again,  and  even  then  congealed  snow  stood 
doggedly  in  the  streets,  while  the  country  roads 
were  like  newly  ploughed  fields  after  rain.  The 
heat  from  large  fires  soon  penetrated  through  roofs 
of  slate  and  thatch ;  and  it  was  quite  a  common 
thing  for  a  man  to  be  flattened  to  the  ground  by  a 
slithering  of  snow  from  above  just  as  he  opened 
his  door.  But  it  had  seldom  more  than  ten  feet  to 
fall.  Most  interesting  of  all  was  the  novel  sensa- 
tion experienced  as  Thrums  began  to  assume  its 
familiar  aspect,  and  objects  so  long  buried  that  they 
had  been  half  forgotten  came  back  to  view  and  use. 
Storm-stayed  shows  used  to  emphasize  the  sever- 
ity of  a  Thrums  winter.  As  the  name  indicates, 
these  were  gatherings  of  travelling  booths  in  the 
winter-time.  Half  a  century  ago  the  country  was 
overrun  by  itinerant  showmen,  who  went  their  dif- 
ferent ways  in  summer,  but  formed  little  colonies  in 
the  cold  weather,  when  they  pitched  their  tents  in 
any  empty  field  or  disused   quarry  and  huddled 

31 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

together  for  the  sake  of  warmth  :  not  that  they  got 
much  of  it.  Not  more  than  five  winters  ago  we 
had  a  storm-stayed  show  on  a  small  scale ;  but  now- 
adays the  farmers  are  less  willing  to  give  these 
wanderers  a  camping-place,  and  the  people  are  less 
easily  drawn  to  the  entertainments  provided,  by 
fife  and  drum.  The  colony  hung  together  until  it 
was  starved  out,  when  it  trailed  itself  elsewhere.  I 
have  often  seen  it  forming.  The  first  arrival  would 
be  what  was  popularly  known  as  "  Sam'l  Mann's 
Tumbling-Booth,"  with  its  tumblers,  jugglers, 
sword-swallowers,  and  balancers.  This  travelling 
show  visited  us  regularly  twice  a  year:  once  in 
summer  for  the  Muckle  Friday,  when  the  per- 
formers were  gay  and  stout,  and  even  the  horses 
had  flesh  on  their  bones ;  and  again  in  the  "  back- 
end  "  of  the  year,  when  cold  and  hunger  had  taken 
the  blood  from  their  faces,  and  the  scraggy  dogs 
that  whined  at  their  side  were  lashed  for  licking  the 
paint  off  the  caravans.  While  the  storm-stayed 
show  was  in  the  vicinity  the  villages  suffered  from 
an  invasion  of  these  dogs.  Nothing  told  more  truly 
the  dreadful  tale  of  the  showman's  life  in  winter. 
Sam'l  Mann's  was  a  big  show,  and  half  a  dozen 
smaller  ones,  most  of  which  were  familiar  to  us, 
crawled  in  its  wake.  Others  heard  of  its  where- 
abouts and  came  in  from  distant  parts.  There  was 
the  well-known  Gubbins  with  his  ''  A'  the  World 
in  a  Box  : "  a  halfpenny  peepshow,  in  which  all  the 

32 


THRUMS 

world  was  represented  by  Joseph  and  his  Brethren 
(with  pit  and  coat),  the  bombardment  of  Copen- 
hagen, the  Battle  of  the  Nile,  Daniel  in  the  Den 
of  Lions,  and  Mount  Etna  in  eruption.  "  Aunt 
Maggy's  Whirligig "  could  be  enjoyed  on  pay- 
ment of  an  old  pair  of  boots,  a  collection  of  rags, 
or  the  like.  Besides  these  and  other  shows,  there 
were  the  wandering  minstrels,  most  of  whom  were 
"  Waterloo  veterans  "  wanting  arms  or  a  leg.  I 
remember  one  whose  arms  had  been  ''  smashed  by 
a  thunderbolt  at  Jamaica."  Queer  bent  old  dames, 
who  superintended  "  lucky  bags  "  or  told  fortunes, 
supplied  the  uncanny  element,  but  hesitated  to  call 
themselves  witches,  for  there  can  still  be  seen  near 
Thrums  the  pool  where  these  unfortunates  used  to 
be  drowned,  and  in  the  session  book  of  the  Glen 
Quharity  kirk  can  be  read  an  old  minute  announc- 
ing that  on  a  certain  Sabbath  there  was  no  preach- 
ing because  "  the  minister  was  away  at  the  burning 
of  a  witch."  To  the  storm-stayed  shows  came  the 
gypsies  in  great  numbers.  Claypots  (which  is  a 
corruption  of  Claypits)  was  their  headquarters  near 
Thrums,  and  it  is  still  sacred  to  their  memory.  It 
was  a  clachan  of  miserable  little  huts  built  entirely 
of  clay  from  the  dreary  and  sticky  pit  in  which 
they  had  been  flung  together.  A  shapeless  hole  on 
one  side  was  the  doorway,  and  a  little  hole,  stuffed 
with  straw  in  winter,  the  window.  Some  of  the 
remnants  of  these  hovels  still  stand.     Their  occu- 

33 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

pants,  though  they  went  by  the  name  of  gypsies 
among  themselves,  were  known  to  the  weavers  as 
the  Claypots  beggars ;  and  their  King  was  Jimmy 
Pawse.  His  regal  dignity  gave  Jimmy  the  right 
to  seek  alms  first  when  he  chose  to  do  so ;  thus  he 
got  the  cream  of  a  place  before  his  subjects  set  to 
work.  He  was  rather  foppish  in  his  dress ;  gener- 
ally affecting  a  suit  of  grey  cloth  with  showy  metal 
buttons  on  it,  and  a  broad  blue  bonnet.  His  wife 
was  a  little  body  like  himself;  and  when  they  went 
a-begging,  Jimmy  with  a  meal-bag  for  alms  on  his 
back,  she  always  took  her  husband's  arm.  Jimmy 
was  the  legal  adviser  of  his  subjects ;  his  decision 
was  considered  final  on  all  questions,  and  he  guided 
them  in  their  courtships  as  well  as  on  their  death- 
beds. He  christened  their  children  and  officiated 
at  their  weddings,  marrying  them  over  the  tongs. 
The  storm-stayed  show  attracted  old  and  young 
—  to  looking  on  from  the  outside.  In  the  day- 
time the  wagons  and  tents  presented  a  dreary  ap- 
pearance, sunk  in  snow,  the  dogs  shivering  be- 
tween the  wheels,  and  but  little  other  sign  of  life 
visible.  When  dusk  came  the  lights  were  lit,  and 
the  drummer  and  fifer  from  the  booth  of  tumblers 
were  sent  into  the  town  to  entice  an  audience. 
They  marched  quickly  through  the  nipping,  windy 
streets,  and  then  returned  with  two  or  three  score 
of  men,  women,  and  children,  plunging  through 
the   snow  or  mud   at  their  heavy  heels.     It  was 

34 


THRUMS 

Orpheus  fallen  from  his  high  estate.  What  a 
mockery  the  glare  of  the  lamps  and  the  capers  of 
the  mountebanks  were,  and  how  satisfied  were  we 
to  enjoy  it  all  without  going  inside.  I  hear  the 
"Waterloo  veterans"  still,  and  remember  their 
patriotic  outbursts : 

On  the  sixteenth  day  of  June,  brave  boys,  while  cannon  loud 

did  roar. 
We  being  short  of  cavalry  they  pressed  on  us  full  sore  ; 
But  British  steel  soon  made  them  yield,   though  our  numbers 

was  but  few. 
And  death  or  victory  was  the  word  on  the  plains  of  Waterloo. 

The  storm-stayed  shows  often  found  it  easier 
to  sink  to  rest  in  a  field  than  to  leave  it.  For 
weeks  at  a  time  they  were  snowed  up,  sufficiently 
to  prevent  any  one  from  Thrums  going  near  them, 
though  not  sufficiently  to  keep  the  pallid  mum- 
mers indoors.  That  would  in  many  cases  have 
meant  starvation.  They  managed  to  fight  their 
way  through  storm  and  snowdrift  to  the  high  road 
and  thence  to  the  town,  where  they  got  meal  and 
sometimes  broth.  The  tumblers  and  jugglers  used 
occasionally  to  hire  an  out-house  in  the  town  at 
these  times  —  you  may  be  sure  they  did  not  pay 
for  it  in  advance  —  and  give  performances  there.  It 
is  a  curious  thing,  but  true,  that  our  herd-boys  and 
others  were  sometimes  struck  with  the  stage-fever. 
Thrums  lost  boys  to  the  showmen  even  in  winter. 

35 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

On  the  whole,  the  farmers  and  the  people  gener- 
ally were  wonderfully  long-suffering  with  these 
wanderers,  who  I  believe  were  more  honest  than 
was  to  be  expected.  They  stole,  certainly ;  but 
seldom  did  they  steal  anything  more  valuable  than 
turnips.  Sam'l  Mann  himself  flushed  proudly 
over  the  effect  his  show  once  had  on  an  irate 
farmer.  The  farmer  appeared  in  the  encampment, 
whip  in  hand  and  furious.  They  must  get  off  his 
land  before  nightfall.  The  crafty  showman,  how- 
ever, prevailed  upon  him  to  take  a  look  at  the  acro- 
bats, and  he  enjoyed  the  performance  so  much 
that  he  offered  to  let  them  stay  until  the  end  of 
the  week.  Before  that  time  came  there  was  such 
a  fall  of  snow  that  departure  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  and  it  is  to  the  farmer's  credit  that  he  sent 
Sam'l  a  bag  of  meal  to  tide  him  and  his  actors 
over  the  storm. 

There  were  times  when  the  showmen  made  a 
tour  of  the  bothies,  where  they  slung  their  poles 
and  ropes  and  gave  their  poor  performances  to 
audiences  that  were  not  critical.  The  bothy 
being  strictly  the  "  man's  "  castle,  the  farmer  never 
interfered;  indeed,  he  was  sometimes  glad  to  see 
the  show.  Every  other  weaver  in  Thrums  used 
to  have  a  son  a  ploughman,  and  it  was  the  men 
from  the  bothies  who  filled  the  square  on  the 
muckly.  "  Hands  "  are  not  huddled  together  now- 
adays in  squalid  barns  more  like  cattle  than  men 

36 


THRUMS 

and  women,  but  bothies  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Thrums  are  not  yet  things  of  the  past.  Many  a 
ploughman  delves  his  way  to  and  from  them  still 
in  all  weathers,  when  the  snow  is  on  the  ground ; 
at  the  time  of  "  hairst,"  and  when  the  turnip 
"  shaws  "  have  just  forced  themselves  through  the 
earth,  looking  like  straight  rows  of  green  needles. 
Here  is  a  picture  of  a  bothy  of  to-day  that  I 
visited  recently.  Over  the  door  there  is  a  water- 
spout that  has  given  way,  and  as  I  entered  I  got 
a  rush  of  rain  down  my  neck.  The  passage  was 
so  small  that  one  could  easily  have  stepped  from 
the  doorway  on  to  the  ladder  standing  against  the 
wall,  which  was  there  in  lieu  of  a  staircase.  "  Up- 
stairs" was  a  mere  garret,  where  a  man  could  not 
stand  erect  even  in  the  centre.  It  was  entered  by 
a  square  hole  in  the  ceiling,  at  present  closed  by  a 
clap-door  in  no  way  dissimilar  to  the  trap-doors 
on  a  theatre  stage.  I  climbed  into  this  garret, 
which  is  at  present  used  as  a  store-room  for  agri- 
cultural odds  and  ends.  At  harvest-time,  however, 
it  is  inhabited  —  full  to  overflowing.  A  few  de- 
cades ago  as  many  as  fifty  labourers  engaged  for 
the  harvest  had  to  be  housed  in  the  farm  out-houses 
on  beds  of  straw.  There  was  no  help  for  it,  and 
men  and  women  had  to  congregate  in  these  barns 
together.  Up  as  early  as  five  in  the  morning, 
they  were  generally  dead  tired  by  night ;  and, 
miserable   though   this    system   of  herding    them 

37 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

together  was,  they  took  it  like  stoics,  and  their 
very  number  served  as  a  moral  safeguard.  Now- 
adays the  harvest  is  gathered  in  so  quickly,  and 
machinery  does  so  much  that  used  to  be  done  by 
hand,  that  this  crowding  of  labourers  together, 
which  was  the  bothy  system  at  its  worst,  is  nothing 
like  what  it  was.  As  many  as  six  or  eight  men, 
however,  are  put  up  in  the  garret  referred  to  dur- 
ing "  hairst  "-time,  and  the  female  labourers  have 
to  make  the  best  of  it  in  the  barn.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  on  many  farms  the  two  sexes  have  still 
at  this  busy  time  to  herd  together  even  at  night. 
The  bothy  was  but  scantily  furnished,  though 
it  consisted  of  two  rooms.  In  the  one,  which  was 
used  almost  solely  as  a  sleeping  apartment,  there 
was  no  furniture  to  speak  of,  beyond  two  closet 
beds,  and  its  bumpy  earthen  floor  gave  it  a  cheer- 
less look.  The  other,  which  had  a  single  bed, 
was  floored  with  wood.  It  was  not  badly  lit  by 
two  very  small  windows  that  faced  each  other, 
and,  besides  several  stools,  there  was  a  long  form 
against  one  of  the  walls.  A  bright  fire  of  peat 
and  coal  —  nothing  in  the  world  makes  such  a 
cheerful  red  fire  as  this  combination  —  burned 
beneath  a  big  kettle  ("  boiler  "  they  called  it),  and 
there  was  a  "press"  or  cupboard  containing  a  fair 
assortment  of  cooking  utensils.  Of  these  some 
belonged  to  the  bothy,  while  others  were  the 
private    property  of  the   tenants.     A  tin  ''pan" 

38 


THRUMS 

and  "  pitcher  "  of  water  stood  near  the  door,  and 
the  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room  was  covered 
with  oilcloth. 

Four  men  and  a  boy  inhabited  this  bothy,  and 
the  rain  had  driven  them  all  indoors.  In  better 
weather  they  spend  the  leisure  of  the  evening  at 
the  game  of  quoits,  which  is  the  standard  pastime 
among  Scottish  ploughmen.  They  fish  the  neigh- 
bouring streams,  too,  and  have  burn-trout  for  sup- 
per several  times  a  week.  When  I  entered,  two 
of  them  were  sitting  by  the  fire  playing  draughts, 
or,  as  they  called  it,  "  the  dam-brod."  The  dam- 
brod  is  the  Scottish  labourer's  billiards;  and  he 
often  attains  to  a  remarkable  proficiency  at  the 
game.  Wylie,  the  champion  draught-player,  was 
once  a  herd-boy ;  and  wonderful  stories  are  current 
in  all  bothies  of  the  times  when  his  master  called 
him  into  the  farm-parlour  to  show  his  skill.  A 
third  man,  who  seemed  the  elder  by  quite  twenty 
years,  was  at  the  window  reading  a  newspaper; 
and  I  got  no  shock  when  I  saw  that  it  was  the 
Saturday  Review^  which  he  and  a  labourer  on  an 
adjoining  farm  took  in  weekly  between  them. 
There  was  a  copy  of  a  local  newspaper  —  the  Peo- 
ple's Journal — also  lying  about,  and  some  books, 
including  one  of  Darwin's.  These  were  all  the 
property  of  this  man,  however,  who  did  the  read- 
ing for  the  bothy. 

They  did  all  the  cooking  for  themselves,  living 
39 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

largely  on  milk.  In  the  old  days,  which  the  senior 
could  remember,  porridge  was  so  universally  the 
morning  meal  that  they  called  it  by  that  name  in- 
stead of  breakfast.  They  still  breakfast  on  por- 
ridge, but  often  take  tea  "  above  it."  Generally 
milk  is  taken  with  the  porridge ;  but  "  porter  "  or 
stout  in  a  bowl  is  no  uncommon  substitute.  Pota- 
toes at  twelve  o'clock  —  seldom  "brose"  nowa- 
days—  are  the  staple  dinner  dish,  and  the  tinned 
meats  have  become  very  popular.  There  are 
bothies  where  each  man  makes  his  own  food ;  but 
of  course  the  more  satisfactory  plan  is  for  them  to 
club  together.  Sometimes  they  get  their  food  in 
the  farm-kitchen;  but  this  is  only  when  there  are 
few  of  them  and  the  farmer  and  his  family  do  not 
think  it  beneath  them  to  dine  with  the  men.  Broth, 
too,  may  be  made  in  the  kitchen  and  sent  down  to 
the  bothy.  At  harvest-time  the  workers  take  their 
food  in  the  fields,  when  great  quantities  of  milk 
are  provided.  There  is  very  little  beer  drunk,  and 
whisky  is  only  consumed  in  privacy. 

Life  in  the  bothies  is  not,  I  should  say,  so  lonely 
as  life  at  the  schoolhouse,  for  the  hands  have  at 
least  each  other's  company.  The  hawker  visits 
them  frequently  still,  though  the  itinerant  tailor, 
once  a  familiar  figure,  has  almost  vanished.  Their 
great  place  of  congregating  is  still  some  country 
smiddy,  which  is  also  their  frequent  meeting-place 
when  bent  on    black-fishing.     The    flare   of  the 

40 


THRUMS 

black-fisher's  torch  still  attracts  salmon  to  their 
death  in  the  rivers  near  Thrums;  and  you  may 
hear  in  the  glens  on  a  dark  night  the  rattle  of  the 
spears  on  the  wet  stones.  Twenty  or  thirty  years 
ago,  however,  the  sport  was  much  more  common. 
After  the  farmer  had  gone  to  bed,  some  half-dozen 
ploughmen  and  a  few  other  poachers  from  Thrums 
would  set  out  for  the  meeting-place. 

The  smithy  on  these  occasions  must  have  been 
a  weird  sight;  though  one  did  not  mark  that  at 
the  time.  The  poacher  crept  from  the  darkness 
into  the  glaring  smithy  light ;  for  in  country  parts 
the  anvil  might  sometimes  be  heard  clanging  at  all 
hours  of  the  night.  As  a  rule,  every  face  was 
blackened;  and  it  was  this,  I  suppose,  rather  than 
the  fact  that  dark  nights  were  chosen  that  gave  the 
gangs  the  name  of  black-fishers.  Other  disguises 
were  resorted  to;  one  of  the  commonest  being  to 
change  clothes  or  to  turn  your  corduroys  outside 
in.  The  country-folk  of  those  days  were  more  su- 
perstitious than  they  are  now,  and  it  did  not  take 
much  to  turn  the  black-fishers  back.  There  was 
not  a  barn  or  byre  in  the  district  that  had  not  its 
horseshoe  over  the  door.  Another  popular  device 
for  frightening  away  witches  and  fairies  was  to 
hang  bunches  of  garlic  about  the  farms.  I  have 
known  a  black-fishing  expedition  stopped  because 
a  "  yellow  yite,"  or  yellowhammer,  hovered  round 
the  gang  when  they  were  setting  out.     Still  more 

41 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

ominous  was  the  "  peat "  when  it  appeared  with 
one  or  three  companions.  An  old  rhyme  about 
this  bird  runs  —  "  One  is  joy,  two  is  grief,  three's  a 
bridal,  four  is  death."  Such  snatches  of  supersti- 
tion are  still  to  be  heard  amidst  the  gossip  of  a 
north-country  smithy. 

Each  black-fisher  brought  his  own  spear  and 
torch,  both  more  or  less  home-made.  The  spears 
were  in  many  cases  "  gully-knives,"  fastened  to 
staves  with  twine  and  resin,  called  "  rozet."  The 
torches  were  very  rough-and-ready  things  —  rope 
and  tar,  or  even  rotten  roots  dug  from  broken 
trees  —  in  fact,  anything  that  would  flare.  The 
black-fishers  seldom  journeyed  far  from  home,  con- 
fining themselves  to  the  rivers  within  a  radius  of 
three  or  four  miles.  There  were  many  reasons  for 
this :  one  of  them  being  that  the  hands  had  to  be 
at  their  work  on  the  farm  by  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning;  another,  that  so  they  poached  and  let 
poach.  Except  when  in  spate,  the  river  I  specially 
refer  to  oflfered  no  attractions  to  the  black-fish- 
ers. Heavy  rains,  however,  swell  it  much  more 
quickly  than  most  rivers  into  a  turbulent  rush  of 
water;  the  part  of  it  affected  by  the  black-fishers 
being  banked  in  with  rocks  that  prevent  the  water's 
spreading.  Above  these  rocks,  again,  are  heavy 
green  banks,  from  which  stunted  trees  grow  aslant 
across  the  river.  The  effect  is  fearsome  at  some 
points  where  the  trees  run  into  each  other,  as  it 

42 


THRUMS 

were,  from  opposite  banks.  However,  the  black- 
fishers  thought  nothing  of  these  things.  They 
took  a  turnip  lantern  with  them  —  that  is,  a  lan- 
tern hollowed  out  of  a  turnip,  with  a  piece  of  can- 
dle inside  —  but  no  lights  were  shown  on  the  road. 
Every  one  knew  his  way  to  the  river  blindfold ; 
so  that  the  darker  the  night  the  better.  On  reach- 
ing the  water  there  was  a  pause.  One  or  two  of 
the  gang  climbed  the  banks  to  discover  if  any  bail- 
iffs were  on  the  watch ;  while  the  others  sat  down, 
and  with  the  help  of  the  turnip  lantern  "  busked  " 
their  spears ;  in  other  words,  fastened  on  the  steel 
—  or,  it  might  be,  merely  pieces  of  rusty  iron 
sharpened  into  a  point  at  home  —  to  the  staves. 
Some  had  them  busked  before  they  set  out,  but 
that  was  not  considered  prudent;  for  of  course 
there  was  always  a  risk  of  meeting  spoil-sports  on 
the  way,  to  whom  the  spears  would  tell  a  tale  that 
could  not  be  learned  from  ordinary  staves.  Never- 
theless little  time  was  lost.  Five  or  six  of  the 
gang  waded  into  the  water,  torch  in  one  hand  and 
spear  in  the  other;  and  the  object  now  was  to 
catch  some  salmon  with  the  least  possible  delay, 
and  hurry  away.  Windy  nights  were  good  for 
the  sport,  and  I  can  still  see  the  river  lit  up  with 
the  lumps  of  light  that  a  torch  makes  in  a  high 
wind.  The  torches,  of  course,  were  used  to  at- 
tract the  fish,  which  came  swimming  to  the  sheen, 
and  were  then  speared.     As  little  noise  as  possible 

43 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

was  made ;  but  though  the  men  bit  their  Ups  in- 
stead of  crying  out  when  they  missed  their  fish, 
there  was  a  continuous  ring  of  their  weapons  on 
the  stones,  and  every  irrepressible  imprecation  was 
echoed  up  and  down  the  black  glen.  Two  or 
three  of  the  gang  were  told  off  to  land  the  salmon, 
and  they  had  to  work  smartly  and  deftly.  They 
kept  by  the  side  of  the  spearsman,  and  the  mo- 
ment he  struck  a  fish  they  grabbed  at  it  with  their 
hands.  When  the  spear  had  a  barb  there  was  less 
chance  of  the  fish's  being  lost ;  but  often  this  was 
not  the  case,  and  probably  not  more  than  two- 
thirds  of  the  salmon  speared  were  got  safely  to  the 
bank.  The  takes  of  course  varied;  sometimes, 
indeed,  the  black-fishers  returned  home  empty- 
handed. 

Encounters  with  the  bailiffs  were  not  infrequent, 
though  they  seldom  took  place  at  the  water's 
edge.  When  the  poachers  were  caught  in  the  act, 
and  had  their  blood  up  with  the  excitement  of  the 
sport,  they  were  ugly  customers.  Spears  were  used 
and  heads  were  broken.  Struggles  even  took  place 
in  the  water,  when  there  was  always  a  chance  ot 
somebody's  being  drowned.  Where  the  bailiffs 
gave  the  black-fishers  an  opportunity  of  escaping 
without  a  fight  it  was  nearly  always  taken ;  the 
booty  being  left  behind.  As  a  rule,  when  the 
"water-watchers,"  as  the  bailiffs  were  sometimes 
called,  had  an  inkling  of  what  was  to  take  place,  they 

44 


THRUMS 

reinforced  themselves  with  a  constable  or  two  and 
waited  on  the  road  to  catch  the  poachers  on  their 
way  home.  One  black-fisher,  a  noted  character, 
was  nicknamed  the  "  Deil  o'  Glen  Quharity."  He 
was  said  to  have  gone  to  the  houses  of  the  bailiffs 
and  offered  to  sell  them  the  fish  stolen  from  the 
streams  over  which  they  kept  guard.  The  "  Deil " 
was  never  imprisoned  —  partly,  perhaps,  because 
he  was  too  eccentric  to  be  taken  seriously. 


45 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   AULD    LIGHT    KIRK 

One  Sabbath  day  in  the  beginning  of  the  cen- 
tury the  Auld  Licht  minister  at  Thrums  walked 
out  of  his  battered,  ramshackle,  earthen-floored 
kirk  with  a  following  and  never  returned.  The 
last  words  he  uttered  in  it  were :  "  Follow  me 
to  the  commonty,  all  you  persons  who  want  to 
hear  the  Word  of  God  properly  preached;  and 
James  Duphie  and  his  two  sons  will  answer  for 
this  on  the  Day  of  Judgment."  The  congregation, 
which  belonged  to  the  body  who  seceded  from 
the  Established  Church  a  hundred  and  fifty  years 
ago,  had  split,  and  as  the  New  Lights  (now  the 
U.  P.'s)  were  in  the  majority,  the  Old  Lights,  with 
the  minister  at  their  head,  had  to  retire  to  the  com- 
monty (or  common)  and  hold  service  in  the  open 
air  until  they  had  saved  up  money  for  a  church. 
They  kept  possession,  however,  of  the  white 
manse  among  the  trees.  Their  kirk  has  but  a 
cluster  of  members  now,  most  of  them  old  and 
done,  but  each  is  equal  to  a  dozen  ordinary  church- 
goers, and  there  have  been  men  and  women  among 

46 


THE   AULD   LIGHT   KIRK 

them  on  whom  the  memory  loves  to  linger.  For 
forty  years  they  have  been  dying  out,  but  their 
cold,  stiff  pews  still  echo  the  Psalms  of  David,  and 
the  Auld  Licht  kirk  will  remain  open  so  long  as 
it  has  one  member  and  a  minister. 

The  church  stands  round  the  corner  from  the 
square,  with  only  a  large  door  to  distinguish  it 
from  the  other  building  in  the  short  street.  Chil- 
dren who  want  to  do  a  brave  thing  hit  this  door 
with  their  fists,  when  there  is  no  one  near,  and 
then  run  away  scared.  The  door,  however,  is 
sacred  to  the  memory  of  a  white-haired  old  lady 
who,  not  so  long  ago,  used  to  march  out  of  the 
kirk  and  remain  on  the  pavement  until  the  psalm 
which  had  just  been  given  out  was  sung.  Of 
Thrums's  pavement  it  may  here  be  said  that  when 
you  come,  even  to  this  day,  to  a  level  slab  you 
feel  reluctant  to  leave  it.  The  old  lady  was  Mis- 
tress (which  is  Miss)  Tibbie  McQuhatty,  and  she 
nearly  split  the  Auld  Licht  kirk  over  "  run  line." 
This  conspicuous  innovation  was  introduced  by  Mr. 
Dishart,  the  minister,  when  he  was  young  and  au- 
dacious. The  old,  reverent  custom  in  the  kirk  was 
for  the  precentor  to  read  out  the  psalm  a  line  at  a 
time.  Having  then  sung  that  line  he  read  out  the 
next  one,  led  the  singing  of  it,  and  so  worked  his 
way  on  to  line  three.  Where  run  line  holds,  how- 
ever, the  psalm  is  read  out  first,  and  forthwith  sung. 
This  is  not  only  a  flighty  way  of  doing  things,  which 

47 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

may  lead  to  greater  scandals,  but  has  its  practical 
disadvantages,  for  the  precentor  always  starts  sing- 
ing in  advance  of  the  congregation  (Auld  Lichts 
never  being  able  to  begin  to  do  anything  all  at 
once),  and,  increasing  the  distance  with  every  line, 
leaves  them  hopelessly  behind  at  the  finish.  Miss 
McQuhatty  protested  against  this  change,  as  meet- 
ing the  devil  halfway,  but  the  minister  carried  his 
point,  and  ever  after  that  she  rushed  ostentatiously 
from  the  church  the  moment  a  psalm  was  given 
out,  and  remained  behind  the  door  until  the  sing- 
ing was  finished,  when  she  returned,  with  a  rustle, 
to  her  seat.  Run  line  had  on  her  the  effect  of  the 
reading  of  the  Riot  Act.  Once  some  men,  capa- 
ble of  anything,  held  the  door  from  the  outside, 
and  the  congregation  heard  Tibbie  rampaging  in 
the  passage.  Bursting  into  the  kirk  she  called  the 
office-bearers  to  her  assistance,  whereupon  the  min- 
ister in  miniature  raised  his  voice  and  demanded 
the  why  and  wherefore  of  the  ungodly  disturbance. 
Great  was  the  hubbub,  but  the  door  was  fast,  and 
a  compromise  had  to  be  arrived  at.  The  old  lady 
consented  for  once  to  stand  in  the  passage,  but  not 
without  pressing  her  hands  to  her  ears.  You  may 
smile  at  Tibbie,  but  ah !  I  know  what  she  was  at 
a  sick  bedside.  I  have  seen  her  when  the  hard  look 
had  gone  from  her  eyes,  and  it  would  ill  become 
me  to  smile  too. 

As  with  all  the  churches  in  Thrums,  care  had 

48 


THE   AULD   LIGHT    KIRK 

been  taken  to  make  the  Auld  Licht  one  much  too 
large.  The  stair  to  the  ''  latt "  or  gallery,  which 
was  originally  little  more  than  a  ladder,  is  ready 
for  you  as  soon  as  you  enter  the  doorway,  but  it  is 
best  to  sit  in  the  body  of  the  kirk.  The  plate  for 
collections  is  inside  the  church,  so  that  the  whole 
congregation  can  give  a  guess  at  what  you  give. 
If  it  is  something  very  stingy  or  very  liberal,  all 
Thrums  knows  of  it  within  a  few  hours ;  indeed, 
this  holds  good  of  all  the  churches,  especially  per- 
haps of  the  Free  one,  which  has  been  called  the 
bawbee  kirk,  because  so  many  halfpennies  find 
their  way  into  the  plate.  On  Saturday  nights  the 
Thrums  shops  are  besieged  for  coppers  by  house- 
wives of  all  denominations,  who  would  as  soon  think 
of  dropping  a  threepenny  bit  into  the  plate  as  of 
giving  nothing.  Tammy  Todd  had  a  curious  way 
of  tipping  his  penny  into  the  Auld  Licht  plate 
while  still  keeping  his  hand  to  his  side.  He  did  it 
much  as  a  boy  fires  a  marble,  and  there  was  quite 
a  talk  in  the  congregation  the  first  time  he  missed. 
A  devout  plan  was  to  carry  your  penny  in  your 
hand  all  the  way  to  church,  but  to  appear  to  take  it 
out  of  your  pocket  on  entering,  and  some  plumped 
it  down  noisily  like  men  paying  their  way.  I  be- 
lieve old  Snecky  Hobart,  who  was  a  canty  stock 
but  obstinate,  once  dropped  a  penny  into  the  plate 
and  took  out  a  halfpenny  as  change,  but  the  only 
untoward  thing  that  happened  to  the  plate  was 

49 


AULD    LIGHT    IDYLLS 

once  when  the  lassie  from  the  farm  of  Curly  Bog 
capsized  it  in  passing.  Mr.  Dishart,  who  was  al- 
ways a  ready  man,  introduced  something  into  his 
sermon  that  day  about  women's  dress,  which  every 
one  hoped  Chirsty  Lundy,  the  lassie  in  question, 
would  remember.  Nevertheless,  the  minister  some- 
times came  to  a  sudden  stop  himself  when  passing 
from  the  vestry  to  the  pulpit.  The  passage  being 
narrow,  his  rigging  would  catch  in  a  pew  as  he 
sailed  down  the  aisle.  Even  then,  however,  Mr. 
Dishart  remembered  that  he  was  not  as  other  men. 
White  is  not  a  religious  colour,  and  the  walls  of 
the  kirk  were  of  a  dull  grey.  A  cushion  was  al- 
lowed to  the  manse  pew,  but  merely  as  a  symbol 
of  office,  and  this  was  the  only  pew  in  the  church 
that  had  a  door.  It  was  and  is  the  pew  nearest 
to  the  pulpit  on  the  minister's  right,  and  one  day  it 
contained  a  bonnet  which  Mr.  Dishart's  predecessor 
preached  at  for  one  hour  and  ten  minutes.  From 
the  pulpit,  which  was  swaddled  in  black,  the  min- 
ister had  a  fine  sweep  of  all  the  congregation  ex- 
cept those  in  the  back  pews  downstairs,  who  were 
lost  in  the  shadow  of  the  laft.  Here  sat  Whinny 
Webster,  so  called  because,  having  an  inexplicable 
passion  against  them,  he  devoted  his  life  to  the  ex- 
termination of  whins.  Whinny  for  years  ate  pep- 
permint lozenges  with  impunity  in  his  back  seat, 
safe  in  the  certainty  that  the  minister,  however  much 
he  might  try,  could  not  possibly  see  him.    But  his 

50 


THE   AULD   LIGHT   KIRK 

day  came.  One  afternoon  the  kirk  smelt  of  pep- 
permints, and  Mr.  Dishart  could  rebuke  no  one,  for 
the  defaulter  was  not  in  sight.  Whinny's  cheek  was 
working  up  and  down  in  quiet  enjoyment  of  its 
lozenge,  when  he  started,  noticing  that  the  preach- 
ing had  stopped.  Then  he  heard  a  sepulchral 
voice  say  "  Charles  Webster  I  "  Whinny's  eyes 
turned  to  the  pulpit,  only  part  of  which  was  visi- 
ble to  him,  and  to  his  horror  they  encountered  the 
minister's  head  coming  down  the  stairs.  This  took 
place  after  I  had  ceased  to  attend  the  Auld  Licht 
kirk  regularly ;  but  I  am  told  that  as  Whinny  gave 
one  wild  scream  the  peppermint  dropped  from  his 
mouth.  The  minister  had  got  him  by  leaning  over 
the  pulpit  door  until,  had  he  given  himself  only  an- 
other inch,  his  feet  would  have  gone  into  the  air. 
As  for  Whinny  he  became  a  Godfearing  man. 

The  most  uncanny  thing  about  the  kirk  was  the 
precentor's  box  beneath  the  pulpit.  Three  Auld 
Licht  ministers  I  have  known,  but  I  can  only  con- 
ceive one  precentor.  Lang  Tammas's  box  was 
much  too  small  for  him.  Since  his  disappearance 
from  Thrums  I  believe  they  have  paid  him  the 
compliment  of  enlarging  it  for  a  smaller  man — no 
doubt  with  the  feeling  that  Tammas  alone  could 
look  like  a  Christian  in  it.  Like  the  whole  con- 
gregation, of  course,  he  had  to  stand  during  the 
prayers  —  the  first  of  which  averaged  half  an  hour 
in  length.     If  he  stood  erect  his  head  and  shoul- 

51 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

ders  vanished  beneath  funereal  trappings,  when  he 
seemed  decapitated,  and  if  he  stretched  his  neck 
the  pulpit  tottered.  He  looked  like  the  pillar  on 
which  it  rested,  or  he  balanced  it  on  his  head  like 
a  baker's  tray.  Sometimes  he  leaned  forward  as 
reverently  as  he  could,  and  then,  with  his  long  lean 
arms  dangling  over  the  side  of  his  box,  he  might 
have  been  a  suit  of  "blacks"  hung  up  to  dry. 
Once  I  was  talking  with  Cree  Queery  in  a  sober, 
respectable  manner,  when  all  at  once  a  light  broke 
out  on  his  face.  I  asked  him  what  he  was  laugh- 
ing at,  and  he  said  it  was  at  Lang  Tammas.  He 
got  grave  again  when  I  asked  him  what  there  was 
in  Lang  Tammas  to  smile  at,  and  admitted  that  he 
could  not  tell  me.  However,  I  have  always  been 
of  opinion  that  the  thought  of  the  precentor  in  his 
box  gave  Cree  a  fleeting  sense  of  humour. 

Tammas  and  Hendry  Munn  were  the  two  paid 
officials  of  the  church,  Hendry  being  kirk-officer ; 
but  poverty  was  among  the  few  points  they  had  in 
common.  The  precentor  was  a  cobbler,  though 
he  never  knew  it,  shoemaker  being  the  name  in 
those  parts,  and  his  dwelling-room  was  also  his 
workshop.  There  he  sat  in  his  "brot,"  or  apron, 
from  early  morning  to  far  on  to  midnight,  and 
contrived  to  make  his  six  or  eight  shillings  a  week. 
I  have  often  sat  with  him  in  the  darkness  that  his 
"cruizey"  lamp  could  not  pierce,  while  his  mut- 
terings  to  himself  of  "  ay,  ay,  yes,  umpha,  oh  ay, 

52 


THE   AULD   LIGHT    KIRK 

ay  man,"   came   as  regularly   and  monotonously 
as  the  tick  of  his  ''  wag-at-the-wa'  "  clock.    Hendry 
and  he  were  paid  no  fixed  sum  for  their  services 
in  the  Auld  Licht  kirk,  but  once  a  year  there  was 
a  collection  for  each  of  them,  and  so  they  jogged 
along.     Though  not  the  only  kirk-officer  of  my 
time  Hendry  made  the  most  lasting  impression. 
He  was,  I  think,  the  only  man  in  Thrums  who 
did  not  quake  when  the  minister  looked  at  him. 
A  wild  story,  never  authenticated,  says  that  Hendry 
once  offered  Mr.  Dishart  a  snuff  from  his  mull. 
In  the  streets  Lang  Tammas  was  more  stern  and 
dreaded  by  evildoers,  but  Hendry  had  first  place 
in  the   kirk.     One  of  his  duties  was  to  precede 
the  minister  from  the  session-house  to  the  pulpit 
and  open  the  door  for  him.     Having   shut  Mr. 
Dishart  in  he  strolled  away  to  his  seat.     When 
a  strange  minister  preached,  Hendry  was,  if  pos- 
sible, still   more   at   his   ease.     This  will   not  be 
believed,  but  I  have  seen  him  give  the  pulpit- 
door  on  these   occasions   a  fling-to  with  his  teet. 
However  ill  an  ordinary  member  of  the  congrega- 
tion might  become  in  the  kirk,  he  sat  on  till  the 
service  ended,  but  Hendry  would  wander  to  the 
door,  and  shut  it  if  he  noticed  that  the  wind  was 
playing  irreverent  tricks  with  the  pages  of  Bibles, 
and  proof  could  still  be  brought  forward  that  he 
would  stop  deliberately  in  the  aisle  to  lift  up  a 
piece  of  paper,  say,  that  had  floated  there.     After 

53 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

the  first  psalm  had  been  sung  it  was  Hendry's 
part  to  Hft  up  the  plate  and  carry  its  tinkling  con- 
tents to  the  session-house.  On  the  greatest  occa- 
sions he  remained  so  calm,  so  indifferent,  so  ex- 
pressionless, that  he  might  have  been  present  the 
night  before  at  a  rehearsal. 

When  there  was  preaching  at  night  the  church 
was  lit  by  tallow  candles,  which  also  gave  out  all 
the  artificial  heat  provided.  Two  candles  stood 
on  each  side  of  the  pulpit,  and  others  were  scattered 
over  the  church,  some  of  them  fixed  into  holes 
on  rough  brackets,  and  some  merely  sticking  in 
their  own  grease  on  the  pews.  Hendry  superin- 
tended the  lighting  of  the  candles,  and  frequently 
hobbled  through  the  church  to  snuff  them.  Mr. 
Dishart  was  a  man  who  could  do  anything  except 
snuff  a  candle,  but  when  he  stopped  in  his  sermon 
to  do  that  he  as  often  as  not  knocked  the  candle 
over.  In  vain  he  sought  to  refix  it  in  its  proper 
place,  and  then  all  eyes  turned  to  Hendry.  As 
coolly  as  though  he  were  in  a  public  hall  or  place 
of  entertainment,  the  kirk-officer  arose  and,  mount- 
ing the  stair,  took  the  candle  from  the  minister's  re- 
luctant hands  and  put  it  right.  Then  he  returned 
to  his  seat,  not  apparently  puffed  up,  yet  perhaps 
satisfied  with  himself;  while  Mr.  Dishart,  glaring 
after  him  to  see  if  he  was  carrying  his  head  high, 
resumed  his  wordy  way. 

Never  was  there   a  man   more   uncomfortably 

54 


THE   AULD   LIGHT    KIRK 

loved  than  Mr.  Dishart.  Easie  Haggart,  his  maid- 
servant, reproved  him  at  the  breaktast-table.  Lang 
Tammas  and  Sam'l  Mealmaker  crouched  for  five 
successive  Sabbath  nights  on  his  manse  wall  to 
catch  him  smoking  (and  got  him).  Old  wives 
grumbled  by  their  hearths  when  he  did  not  look 
in  to  despair  of  their  salvation.  He  told  the 
maidens  of  his  congregation  not  to  make  an  idol 
of  him.  His  session  saw  him  (from  behind  a  hay- 
stack) in  conversation  with  a  strange  woman,  and 
asked  grimly  if  he  remembered  that  he  had  a 
wife.  Twenty  were  his  years  when  he  came  to 
Thrums,  and  on  the  very  first  Sabbath  he  knocked 
a  board  out  of  the  pulpit.  Before  beginning  his 
trial  sermon  he  handed  down  the  big  Bible  to  the 
precentor,  to  give  his  arms  freer  swing.  The  con- 
gregation, trembling  with  exhilaration,  probed  his 
meaning.  Not  a  square  inch  of  paper,  they  saw, 
could  be  concealed  there.  Mr.  Dishart  had 
scarcely  any  hope  for  the  Auld  Lichts;  he  had 
none  for  any  other  denomination.  Davit  Lunan 
got  behind  his  handkerchief  to  think  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  the  minister  was  on  him  like  a  tiger. 
The  call  was  unanimous.  Davit  proposed  him. 
Every  few  years,  as  one  might  say,  the  Auld 
Licht  kirk  gave  way  and  buried  its  minister.  The 
congregation  turned  their  empty  pockets  inside 
out,  and  the  minister  departed  in  a  farmer's  cart. 
The  scene  was  not  an  amusing  one  to  those  who 

55 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

looked  on  at  it.  To  the  Auld  Lichts  was  then  the 
humiliation  of  seeing  their  pulpit  ''  supplied  "  on 
alternate  Sabbaths  by  itinerant  probationers  or 
stickit  ministers.  When  they  were  not  starving 
themselves  to  support  a  pastor  the  Auld  Lichts 
were  saving  up  for  a  stipend.  They  retired  with 
compressed  lips  to  their  looms,  and  weaved  and 
weaved  till  they  weaved  another  minister.  With- 
out the  grief  of  parting  with  one  minister  there 
could  not  have  been  the  transport  of  choosing  an- 
other. To  have  had  a  pastor  always  might  have 
made  them  vainglorious. 

They  were  seldom  longer  than  twelve  months 
in  making  a  selection,  and  in  their  haste  they  would 
have  passed  over  Mr.  Dishart  and  mated  with  a 
monster.  Many  years  have  elapsed  since  Provi- 
dence flung  Mr.  Watts  out  of  the  Auld  Licht  kirk. 
Mr.  Watts  was  a  probationer  who  was  tried  before 
Mr.  Dishart,  and,  though  not  so  young  as  might 
have  been  wished,  he  found  favour  in  many  eyes. 
"  Sluggard  in  the  laft,  awake  I "  he  cried  to  Bell 
Whamond,  who  had  forgotten  herself,  and  it  was 
felt  that  there  must  be  good  stufFin  him.  A  breeze 
from  Heaven  exposed  him  on  Communion  Sab- 
bath. 

On  the  evening  of  this  solemn  day  the  door  of 
the  Auld  Licht  kirk  was  sometimes  locked,  and  the 
congregation  repaired,  Bible  in  hand,  to  the  com- 
monty.     They  had  a  right  to  this  common  on  the 

56 


THE   AULD   LIGHT    KIRK 

Communion  Sabbath,  but  only  took  advantage  of 
it  when  it  was  beheved  that  more  persons  intended 
witnessing  the  evening  service  than  the  kirk  would 
hold.  On  this  day  the  attendance  was  always  very 
great. 

It  was  the  Covenanters  come  back  to  life.  To 
the  summit  of  the  slope  a  wooden  box  was  slowly 
hurled  by  Hendry  Munn  and  others,  and  round 
this  the  congregation  quietly  grouped  to  the  tinkle 
of  the  cracked  Auld  Licht  bell.  With  slow  ma- 
jestic tread  the  session  advanced  up  the  steep  com- 
mon with  the  little  minister  in  their  midst.  He 
had  the  people  in  his  hands  now,  and  the  more  he 
squeezed  them  the  better  they  were  pleased.  The 
travelling  pulpit  consisted  of  two  compartments, 
the  one  for  the  minister  and  the  other  for  Lang 
Tammas,  but  no  Auld  Licht  thought  that  it  looked 
like  a  Punch  and  Judy  puppet  show.  This  service 
on  the  common  was  known  as  the  "tent  preach- 
ing," owing  to  a  tent's  being  frequently  used  in- 
stead of  the  box. 

Mr.  Watts  was  conducting  the  service  on  the 
commonty.  It  was  a  fine,  still  summer  evening, 
and  loud  above  the  whisper  of  the  burn  from  which 
the  common  climbs,  and  the  laboured  "pechs"  of 
the  listeners  rose  the  preacher's  voice.  The  Auld 
Lichts  in  their  rusty  blacks  (they  must  have  been  a 
more  artistic  sight  in  the  olden  days  of  blue  bonnets 
and  knee-breeches)  nodded  their  heads  in  sharp  ap- 

57 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

proval,  for  though  they  could  swoop  down  on  a 
heretic  like  an  eagle  on  carrion,  they  scented  no 
prey.  Even  Lang  Tammas,  on  whose  nose  a  drop 
of  water  gathered  when  he  was  in  his  greatest  fettle, 
thought  that  all  was  fair  and  above-board.  Sud- 
denly a  rush  of  wind  tore  up  the  common,  and 
ran  straight  at  the  pulpit.  It  formed  in  a  sieve, 
and  passed  over  the  heads  of  the  congregation,  who 
felt  it  as  a  fan,  and  looked  up  in  awe.  Lang  Tam- 
mas, feeling  himself  all  at  once  grow  clammy,  dis- 
tinctly heard  the  leaves  of  the  pulpit  Bible  shiver. 
Mr.  Watts's  hands,  outstretched  to  prevent  a  catas- 
trophe, were  blown  against  his  side,  and  then  some 
twenty  sheets  of  closely-written  paper  floated  into 
the  air.  There  was  a  horrible,  dead  silence.  The 
burn  was  roaring  now.  The  minister,  if  such  he 
can  be  called,  shrunk  back  in  his  box,  and,  as  if 
they  had  seen  it  printed  in  letters  of  fire  on  the 
heavens,  the  congregation  realized  that  Mr.  Watts, 
whom  they  had  been  on  the  point  of  calling,  read 
his  sermon.  He  wrote  it  out  on  pages  the  exact 
size  of  those  in  the  Bible,  and  did  not  scruple  to 
fasten  these  into  the  Holy  Book  itself  At  theatres 
a  sullen  thunder  of  angry  voices  behind  the  scene 
represents  a  crowd  in  a  rage,  and  such  a  low,  long- 
drawn  howl  swept  the  common  when  Mr.  Watts 
was  found  out.  To  follow  a  pastor  who  "  read  " 
seemed  to  the  Auld  Lichts  like  claiming  heaven  on 
false  pretences.     In  ten  minutes  the  session  alone, 

58 


THE   AULD   LIGHT   KIRK 

with  Lang  Tammas  and  Hendry,  were  on  the  com- 
mon. They  were  watched  by  many  from  afar  off, 
and  (when  one  comes  to  think  of  it  now)  looked  a 
Httle  curious  jumping,  Hke  trout  at  flies,  at  the 
damning  papers  still  fluttering  in  the  air.  The  min- 
ister was  never  seen  in  our  parts  again,  but  he  is  still 
remembered  as  "  Paper  Watts." 

Mr.  Dishart  in  the  pulpit  was  the  reward  of  his 
upbringing.  At  ten  he  had  entered  the  university. 
Before  he  was  in  his  teens  he  was  practising  the  art 
of  gesticulation  in  his  father's  gallery  pew.  From 
distant  congregations  people  came  to  marvel  at 
him.  He  was  never  more  than  comparatively 
young.  So  long  as  the  pulpit  trappings  of  the 
kirk  at  Thrums  lasted  he  could  be  seen,  once  he 
was  fairly  under  weigh  with  his  sermon,  but  dimly 
in  a  cloud  of  dust.  He  introduced  headaches. 
In  a  grand  transport  of  enthusiasm  he  once  flung 
his  arms  over  the  pulpit  and  caught  Lang  Tammas 
on  the  forehead.  Leaning  forward,  with  his  chest 
on  the  cushions,  he  would  pommel  the  Evil  One 
with  both  hands,  and  then,  whirling  round  to  the 
left,  shake  his  fist  at  Bell  Whamond's  neckerchief 
With  a  sudden  jump  he  would  fix  Pete  Todd's 
youngest  boy  catching  flies  at  the  laft  window. 
Stiffening  unexpectedly,  he  would  leap  three  times 
in  the  air,  and  then  gather  himself  in  a  corner  for  a 
fearsome  spring.  When  he  wept  he  seemed  to  be 
laughing,  and  he  laughed  in  a  paroxysm  of  tears. 

59 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

He  tried  to  tear  the  devil  out  of  the  pulpit  rails. 
When  he  was  not  a  teetotum  he  was  a  wind- 
mill. His  pump  position  was  the  most  appall- 
ing. Then  he  glared  motionless  at  his  admiring 
listeners,  as  if  he  had  fallen  into  a  trance  with  his 
arm  upraised.  The  hurricane  broke  next  moment. 
Nanny  Sutie  bore  up  under  the  shadow  of  the 
windmill  —  which  would  have  been  heavier  had 
Auld  Licht  ministers  worn  gowns  —  but  the  pump 
affected  her  to  tears.     She  was  stone-deaf 

For  the  first  year  or  more  of  his  ministry  an 
Auld  Licht  minister  was  a  mouse  among  cats. 
Both  in  the  pulpit  and  out  of  it  they  watched 
for  unsound  doctrine,  and  when  he  strayed  they 
took  him  by  the  neck.  Mr.  Dishart,  however, 
had  been  brought  up  in  the  true  way,  and  seldom 
gave  his  people  a  chance.  In  time,  it  may  be  said, 
they  grew  despondent,  and  settled  in  their  uncom- 
fortable pews  with  all  suspicion  of  lurking  heresy 
allayed.  It  was  only  on  such  Sabbaths  as  Mr. 
Dishart  changed  pulpits  with  another  minister  that 
they  cocked  their  ears  and  leant  forward  eagerly 
to  snap  the  preacher  up. 

Mr.  Dishart  had  his  trials.  There  was  the  split  in 
the  kirk,  too,  that  comes  once  at  least  to  every  Auld 
Licht  minister.  He  was  long  in  marrying.  The 
congregation  were  thinking  of  approaching  him, 
through  the  medium  of  his  servant,  Easie  Hag- 
gart,  on  the  subject  of  matrimony ;  for  a  bachelor 

60 


THE   AULD   LIGHT    KIRK 

coming  on  for   twenty-two,    with   an   income  of 
eighty  pounds  per  annum,  seemed   an   anomaly, 
when  one  day  he  took  the  canal  for  Edinburgh  and 
returned  with  his  bride.     His  people  nodded  their 
heads,  but  said  nothing  to  the  minister.     It  he  did 
not  choose  to  take  them  into  his  confidence,  it  was 
no  affair  of  theirs.     That    there    was    something 
queer  about  the  marriage,  however,  seemed  cer- 
tain.    Sandy  Whamond,  who  was  a  soured  man 
after  losing  his  eldership,  said  that  he  believed  she 
had  been  an   ''Englishy"  —  in  other  words,  had 
belonged   to  the   English   Church;  but  it  is  not 
probable  that  Mr.  Dishart  would  have  gone  the 
length  of  that.     The  secret  is  buried  in  his  grave. 
Easie  Haggart  jagged  the  minister  sorely.     She 
grew  loquacious  with  years,  and  when  he  had  com- 
pany would  stand  at  the  door  joining  in  the  con- 
versation.    If  the  company  was  another  minister, 
she  would  take  a  chair  and  discuss  Mr.  Dishart's 
infirmities  with  him.     The  Auld  Lichts  loved  their 
minister,  but  they  saw  even  more  clearly  than  him- 
self the  necessity  for  his  humiliation.      His  wife 
made  all  her  children's  clothes,  but  Sanders  Gow 
complained  that  she  looked  too  like  their  sister. 
In  one  week  three  of  the  children  died,  and  on 
the    Sabbath    following    it  rained.       Mr.   Dishart 
preached,  twice  breaking  down  altogether  and  gap- 
ing strangely  round  the  kirk  (there  was  no  dust 
flying  that  day),  and  spoke  of  the  rain  as  angels' 

61 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

tears  for  three  little  girls.  The  Auld  Lichts  let  it 
pass,  but,  as  Lang  Tammas  said  in  private  (for,  of 
course,  the  thing  was  much  discussed  at  the  looms), 
if  you  materialize  angels  in  that  way,  where  are 
you  going  to  stop  ? 

It  was  on  the  Fast  Days  that  the  Auld  Licht 
kirk  showed  what  it  was  capable  of,  and,  so  to 
speak,  left  all  the  other  churches  in  Thrums  far 
behind.  The  Fast  came  round  once  every  sum- 
mer, beginning  on  a  Thursday,  when  all  the  looms 
were  hushed,  and  two  services  were  held  in  the 
kirk  of  about  three  hours'  length  each.  A  min- 
ister from  another  town  assisted  at  these  times,  and 
when  the  service  ended  the  members  filed  in  at  one 
door  and  out  at  another,  passing  on  their  way  Mr. 
Dishart  and  his  elders,  who  dispensed  "  tokens  "  at 
the  foot  of  the  pulpit.  Without  a  token,  which 
was  a  metal  lozenge,  no  one  could  take  the  sacra- 
ment on  the  coming  Sabbath,  and  many  a  mem- 
ber has  Mr.  Dishart  made  miserable  by  refusing 
him  his  token  for  gathering  wild  flowers,  say,  on  a 
Lord's  Day  (as  testified  to  by  another  member). 
Women  were  lost  who  cooked  dinners  on  the  Sab- 
bath, or  took  to  coloured  ribbons,  or  absented 
themselves  from  church  without  suflficient  cause. 
On  the  Fast  Day  fists  were  shaken  at  Mr.  Dishart 
as  he  walked  sternly  homewards,  but  he  was  undis- 
mayed. Next  day  there  were  no  services  in  the 
kirk,  for  Auld  Lichts  could  not  afford  many  holi- 

62 


THE   AULD   LIGHT   KIRK 

days,  but  they  weaved  solemnly,  with  Saturday 
and  the  Sabbath  and  Monday  to  think  of.  On 
Saturday  service  began  at  two  and  lasted  until 
nearly  seven.  Two  sermons  were  preached,  but 
there  was  no  interval.  The  sacrament  was  dis- 
pensed on  the  Sabbath.  Nowadays  the  "  tables  " 
in  the  Auld  Licht  kirk  are  soon  "  served,"  for  the 
attendance  has  decayed,  and  most  of  the  pews  in  the 
body  of  the  church  are  made  use  of  In  the  days 
of  which  I  speak,  however,  the  front  pews  alone 
were  hung  with  white,  and  it  was  in  them  only 
that  the  sacrament  was  administered.  As  many 
members  as  could  get  into  them  delivered  up  their 
tokens  and  took  the  first  table.  Then  they  made 
room  for  others,  who  sat  in  their  pews  awaiting 
their  turn.  What  with  tables,  the  preaching,  and 
unusually  long  prayers,  the  service  lasted  from 
eleven  to  six.  At  half-past  six  a  two  hours'  ser- 
vice began,  either  in  the  kirk  or  on  the  common, 
from  which  no  one  who  thought  much  about  his 
immortal  soul  would  have  dared  (or  cared)  to  ab- 
sent himself  A  four  hours'  service  on  the  Mon- 
day, which,  like  that  of  the  Saturday,  consisted  of 
two  services  in  one,  but  began  at  eleven  instead  of 
two,  completed  the  programme. 

On  those  days,  if  you  were  a  poor  creature  and 
wanted  to  acknowledge  it,  you  could  leave  the 
church  for  a  few  minutes  and  return  to  it,  but  the 
creditable  thing  was  to  sit  on.     Even  among  the 

63 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

children  there  was  a  keen  competition,  fostered  by 
their  parents,  to  sit  each  other  out,  and  be  in  at  the 
death. 

The  other  Thrums  kirks  held  the  sacrament  at 
the  same  time,  but  not  with  the  same  vehemence. 
As  far  north  from  the  schoolhouse  as  Thrums  is 
south  of  it,  nestles  the  little  village  of  Quharity, 
and  there  the  Fast  Day  was  not  a  day  of  fasting. 
In  most  cases  the  people  had  to  go  many  miles  to 
church.  They  drove  or  rode  (two  on  a  horse),  or 
walked  in  from  other  glens.  Without  "  the  tents," 
therefore,  the  congregation,  with  a  long  day  before 
them,  would  have  been  badly  off.  Sometimes  one 
tent  sufficed;  at  other  times  rival  publicans  were 
on  the  ground.  The  tents  were  those  in  use  at  the 
feeing  and  other  markets,  and  you  could  get  any- 
thing inside  them,  from  broth  made  in  a  "  boiler  " 
to  the  fieriest  whisky.  They  were  planted  just  out- 
side the  kirk-gate  —  long,  low  tents  of  dirty  white 
canvas  —  so  that  when  passing  into  the  church  or 
out  of  it  you  inhaled  their  odours.  The  congre- 
gation emerged  austerely  from  the  church,  shaking 
their  heads  solemnly  over  the  minister's  remarks, 
and  their  feet  carried  them  into  the  tent.  There 
was  no  mirth,  no  unseemly  revelry,  but  there  was 
a  great  deal  of  hard  drinking.  Eventually  the 
tents  were  done  away  with,  but  not  until  the  ser- 
vices on  the  Fast  Days  were  shortened.  The  Auld 
Licht  ministers  were  the  only  ones  who  preached 

64 


THE   AULD    LIGHT    KIRK 

against  the  tents  with  any  heart,  and  since  the  old 
dominie,  my  predecessor  at  the  schoolhouse,  died, 
there  has  not  been  an  Auld  Licht  permanently 
resident  in  the  glen  of  Ouharity. 

Perhaps  nothing  took  it  out  of  the  Auld  Licht 
males  so  much  as  a  christening.  Then  alone  they 
showed  symptoms  of  nervousness,  more  especially 
after  the  remarkable  baptism  of  Eppie  Whamond. 
I  could  tell  of  several  scandals  in  connection  with 
the  kirk.  There  was,  for  instance,  the  time  when 
Easie  Haggart  saved  the  minister.  In  a  fit  of  tem- 
porary mental  derangement  the  misguided  man 
had  one  Sabbath  day,  despite  the  entreaties  of  his 
affrighted  spouse,  called  at  the  post-office,  and  was 
on  the  point  of  reading  the  letter  there  received, 
when  Easie,  who  had  slipped  on  her  bonnet  and 
followed  him,  snatched  the  secular  thing  from  his 
hands.  There  was  the  story  that  ran  like  fire 
through  Thrums  and  crushed  an  innocent  man  to 
the  effect  that  Pete  Todd  had  been  in  an  Edinburgh 
theatre  countenancing  the  play-actors.  Something 
could  be  made,  too,  of  the  retribution  that  came  to 
Chairlie  Ramsay,  who  woke  in  his  pew  to  discover 
that  its  other  occupant,  his  little  son  Jamie,  was 
standing  on  the  seat  divesting  himself  of  his  clothes 
in  presence  of  a  horrified  congregation.  Jamie  had 
begun  stealthily,  and  had  very  little  on  when 
Chairlie  seized  him.  But  having  my  choice  ot 
scandals  I  prefer  the  christening  one  —  the  unique 

65 


AULD    LIGHT    IDYLLS 

case  of  Eppie  Whamond,  who  was  born  late  on 
Saturday  night  and  baptized  in  the  kirk  on  the 
following  forenoon. 

To  the  casual  observer  the  Auld  Licht  always 
looked  as  if  he  were  returning  from  burying  a 
near  relative.  Yet  when  I  met  him  hobbling 
down  the  street,  preternaturally  grave  and  occupied, 
experience  taught  me  that  he  was  preparing  for  a 
christening.  How  the  minister  would  have  borne 
himself  in  the  event  of  a  member  of  his  congrega- 
tion's wanting  the  baptism  to  take  place  at  home 
it  is  not  easy  to  say ;  but  I  shudder  to  think  of 
the  public  prayers  for  the  parents  that  would 
certainly  have  followed.  The  child  was  carried 
to  the  kirk  through  rain,  or  snow,  or  sleet,  or 
wind,  the  father  took  his  seat  alone  in  the  front 
pew,  under  the  minister's  eye,  and  the  service  was 
prolonged  far  on  into  the  afternoon.  But  though 
the  references  in  the  sermon  to  that  unhappy  ob- 
ject of  interest  in  the  front  pew  were  many  and 
pointed,  his  time  had  not  really  come  until  the 
minister  signed  to  him  to  advance  as  far  as  the 
second  step  of  the  pulpit  stairs.  The  nervous  fa- 
ther clenched  the  railing  in  a  daze,  and  cowered 
before  the  ministerial  heckling.  From  warning 
the  minister  passed  to  exhortation,  from  exhorta- 
tion to  admonition,  from  admonition  to  searching 
questioning,  from  questioning  to  prayer  and  wail- 
ing.    When  the  father  glanced  up,  there  was  the 

66 


THE   AULD   LIGHT    KIRK 

radiant  boy  in  the  pulpit  looking  as  if  he  would 
like  to  jump  down  his  throat.  If  he  hung  his 
head  the  minister  would  ask,  with  a  groan,  whether 
he  was  unprepared;  and  the  whole  congregation 
would  sigh  out  the  response  that  Mr.  Dishard  had 
hit  it.  When  he  replied  audibly  to  the  minister's 
uncomfortable  questions,  a  pained  look  at  his  flip- 
pancy travelled  from  the  pulpit  all  round  the 
pews ;  and  when  he  only  bowed  his  head  in  ans- 
wer, the  minister  paused  sternly,  and  the  congre- 
gation wondered  what  the  man  meant.  Little 
wonder  that  Davie  Haggart  took  to  drinking 
when  his  turn  came  for  occupying  that  front  pew. 

If  wee  Eppie  Whamond's  birth  had  been  de- 
ferred until  the  beginning  of  the  week,  or  humil- 
ity had  shown  more  prominently  among  her  mo- 
ther's virtues,  the  kirk  would  have  been  saved  a 
painful  scandal,  and  Sandy  Whamond  might  have 
retained  his  eldership.  Yet  it  was  a  foolish  but 
wifely  pride  in  her  husband's  official  position  that 
turned  Bell  Dundas's  head  —  a  wild  ambition  to 
beat  all  baptismal  record. 

Among  the  wives  she  was  esteemed  a  poor  body 
whose  infant  did  not  see  the  inside  of  the  kirk 
within  a  fortnight  of  its  birth.  Forty  years  ago  it 
was  an  accepted  superstition  in  Thrums  that  the 
ghosts  of  children  who  had  died  before  they  were 
baptized  went  wailing  and  wringing  their  hands 
round  the  kirkyard  at  nights,  and  that  they  would 

67 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

continue  to  do  this  until  the  crack  of  doom. 
When  the  Auld  Licht  children  grew  up,  too,  they 
crowed  over  those  of  their  fellows  whose  christen- 
ing had  been  deferred  until  a  comparatively  late 
date,  and  the  mothers  who  had  needlessly  missed 
a  Sabbath  for  long  afterwards  hung  their  heads. 
That  was  a  good  and  creditable  birth  which  took 
place  early  in  the  week,  thus  allowing  time  for 
suitable  christening  preparations ;  while  to  be  born 
on  a  Friday  or  a  Saturday  was  to  humiliate  your 
parents,  besides  being  an  extremely  ominous  be- 
ginning for  yourself  Without  seeking  to  vindi- 
cate Bell  Dundas's  behaviour,  I  may  note,  as  an 
act  of  ordinary  fairness,  that  being  the  leading  el- 
der's wife,  she  was  sorely  tempted.  Eppie  made 
her  appearance  at  9.45  on  a  Saturday  night. 

In  the  hurry  and  scurry  that  ensued,  Sandy  es- 
caped sadly  to  the  square.  His  infant  would  be 
baptized  eight  days  old,  one  of  the  longest-de- 
ferred christenings  of  the  year.  Sandy  was  shiver- 
ing under  the  clock  when  I  met  him  accidentally, 
and  took  him  home.  But  by  that  time  the  harm 
had  been  done.  Several  of  the  congregation  had 
been  roused  from  their  beds  to  hear  his  lamenta- 
tions, of  whom  the  men  sympathized  with  him, 
while  the  wives  triumphed  austerely  over  Bell 
Dundas.  As  I  wrung  poor  Sandy's  hand,  I  hardly 
noticed  that  a  bright  light  showed  distinctly  be- 
tween the  shutters  of  his  kitchen-window ;  but  the 

68 


THE   AULD   LIGHT   KIRK 

elder  himself  turned  pale  and  breathed  quickly. 
It  was  then  fourteen  minutes  past  twelve. 

My  heart  sank  within  me  on  the  following  fore- 
noon, when  Sandy  Whamond  walked,  with  a  queer 
twitching  face,  into  the  front  pew  under  a  glare  of 
eyes  from  the  body  of  the  kirk  and  the  laft.  An 
amazed  buzz  went  round  the  church,  followed  by 
a  pursing  up  of  lips  and  hurried  whisperings. 
Evidently  Sandy  had  been  driven  to  it  against  his 
own  judgment.  The  scene  is  still  vivid  before 
me :  the  minister  suspecting  no  guile,  and  omit- 
ting the  admonitory  stage  out  of  compliment  to 
the  elder's  standing;  Sandy's  ghastly  face;  the 
proud  godmother  (aged  twelve)  with  the  squal- 
ling baby  in  her  arms ;  the  horror  of  the  congrega- 
tion to  a  man  and  woman.  A  slate  fell  from  San- 
dy's house  even  as  he  held  up  the  babe  to  the 
minister  to  receive  a  "  droukin' "  of  water,  and 
Eppie  cried  so  vigorously  that  her  shamed  godmo- 
ther had  to  rush  with  her  to  the  vestry.  Now 
things  are  not  as  they  should  be  when  an  Auld 
Licht  infant  does  not  quietly  sit  out  her  first 
service. 

Bell  tried  for  a  time  to  carry  her  head  high ;  but 
Sandy  ceased  to  whistle  at  his  loom,  and  the 
scandal  was  a  rolling  stone  that  soon  passed  over 
him.  Briefly  it  amounted  to  this :  that  a  bairn 
born  within  two  hours  of  midnight  on  Saturday 
could  not  have  been  ready  for  christening  at  the 

69 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

kirk  next  day  without  the  breaking  of  the  Sab- 
bath. Had  the  secret  of  the  nocturnal  Hght  been 
mine  alone  all  might  have  been  well;  but  Betsy 
Munn's  evidence  was  irrefutable.  Great  had  been 
Bell's  cunning,  but  Betsy  had  outwitted  her.  Pas- 
sing the  house  on  the  eventful  night,  Betsy  had 
observed  Marget  Dundas,  Bell's  sister,  open  the 
door  and  creep  cautiously  to  the  window,  the 
chinks  in  the  outside  shutters  of  which  she  cun- 
ningly closed  up  with  "  tow."  As  in  a  flash  the 
disgusted  Betsy  saw  what  Bell  was  up  to,  and,  re- 
moving the  tow,  planted  herself  behind  the  dilapi- 
dated dyke  opposite,  and  awaited  events.  Ques- 
tioned at  a  special  meeting  of  the  office-bearers  in 
the  vestry,  she  admitted  that  the  lamp  was  extin- 
guished soon  after  twelve  o'clock,  though  the  fire 
burned  brightly  all  night.  There  had  been  un- 
necessary feasting  during  the  night,  and  six  eggs 
were  consumed  before  breakfast-time.  Asked  how 
she  knew  this,  she  admitted  having  counted  the 
egg-shells  that  Marget  had  thrown  out  of  doors  in 
the  morning.  This,  with  the  testimony  of  the 
persons  from  whom  Sandy  had  sought  condolence 
on  the  Saturday  night,  was  the  case  for  the  prose- 
cution. For  the  defence.  Bell  maintained  that  all 
preparations  stopped  when  the  clock  struck  twelve, 
and  even  hinted  that  the  bairn  had  been  born  on 
Saturday  afternoon.  But  Sandy  knew  that  he  and 
his  had  got  a  fall.     In  the  forenoon  of  the  foUow- 

70 


THE   AULD    LIGHT    KIRK 

ing  Sabbath  the  minister  preached  from  the  text, 
"  Be  sure  your  sin  will  find  you  out ;  "  and  in  the 
afternoon  from  "  Pride  goeth  before  a  fall."  He 
was  grand.  In  the  evening  Sandy  tendered  his  re- 
signation of  office,  which  was  at  once  accepted. 
Wobs  were  behindhand  for  a  week  owing  to  the 
length  of  the  prayers  offered  up  for  Bell;  and 
Lang  Tammas  ruled  in  Sandy's  stead. 


71 


CHAPTER    IV 

LADS    AND    LASSES 

With  the  severe  Auld  Lichts  the  Sabbath  began 
at  six  o'clock  on  Saturday  evening.  By  that  time 
the  gleaming  shuttle  was  at  rest,  Davie  Haggart 
had  strolled  into  the  village  from  his  pile  of  stones 
on  the  Whunny  road ;  Hendry  Robb,  the  "  dum- 
my," had  sold  his  last  barrowful  of  "  rozetty  (re- 
siny)  roots  "  for  firewood ;  and  the  people,  having 
tranquilly  supped  and  soused  their  faces  in  their 
water-pails,  slowly  donned  their  Sunday  clothes. 
This  ceremony  was  common  to  all ;  but  here  di- 
vergence set  in.  The  grey  Auld  Licht,  to  whom 
love  was  not  even  a  name,  sat  in  his  high-backed 
arm-chair  by  the  hearth,  Bible  or  ''  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress "  in  hand,  occasionally  lapsing  into  slumber. 
But — though,  when  they  got  the  chance,  they  went 
willingly  three  times  to  the  kirk  —  there  were  young 
men  in  the  community  so  flighty  that,  instead  of 
dozing  at  home  on  Saturday  night,  they  dandered 
casually  into  the  square,  and,  forming  into  knots 
at  the  corners,  talked  solemnly  and  mysteriously 
of  women. 

Not  even  on  the  night  preceding  his  wedding 

72 


LADS   AND   LASSES 

was  an  Auld  Licht  ever  known  to  stay  out  after 
ten  o'clock.  So  weekly  conclaves  at  street-corners 
came  to  an  end  at  a  comparatively  early  hour,  one 
Coelebs  after  another  shuffling  silently  from  the 
square  until  it  echoed,  deserted,  to  the  town-house 
clock.  The  last  of  the  gallants,  gradually  discov- 
ering that  he  was  alone,  would  look  around  him 
musingly,  and,  taking  in  the  situation,  slowly 
wend  his  way  home.  On  no  other  night  of  the 
week  was  frivolous  talk  about  the  softer  sex  in- 
dulged in,  the  Auld  Lichts  being  creatures  of  habit 
who  never  thought  of  smiling  on  a  Monday. 
Long  before  they  reached  their  teens  they  were 
earning  their  keep  as  herds  in  the  surrounding 
glens  or  filling  "  pirns  "  for  their  parents ;  but  they 
were  generally  on  the  brink  of  twenty  before  they 
thought  seriously  of  matrimony.  Up  to  that  time 
they  only  trifled  with  the  other  sex's  affections  at 
a  distance  —  filling  a  maid's  water-pails,  perhaps, 
when  no  one  was  looking,  or  carrying  her  wob ;  at 
the  recollection  of  which  they  would  slap  their 
knees  almost  jovially  on  Saturday  night.  A  wife 
was  expected  to  assist  at  the  loom  as  well  as  to  be 
cunning  in  the  making  of  marmalade  and  the  fir- 
ing of  bannocks,  and  there  was  consequently  some 
heartburning  among  the  lads  for  maids  of  skill 
and  muscle.  The  Auld  Licht,  however,  who 
meant  marriage  seldom  loitered  in  the  streets. 
By  and  by  there   came   a   time    when   the   clock 

73 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

looked  down  through  its  cracked  glass  upon  the 
hemmed  in  square  and  saw  him  not.  His  compan- 
ions, gazing  at  each  other's  boots,  felt  that  some- 
thing was  going  on,  but  made  no  remark. 

A  month  ago,  passing  through  the  shabby  famil- 
iar square,  I  brushed  against  a  withered  old  man 
tottering  down  the  street  under  a  load  of  yarn.  It 
was  piled  on  a  wheelbarrow  which  his  feeble  hands 
could  not  have  raised  but  for  the  rope  of  yarn  that 
supported  it  from  his  shoulders ;  and  though  Auld 
Licht  was  written  on  his  patient  eyes,  I  did  not 
immediately  recognize  Jamie  Whamond.  Years 
ago  Jamie  was  a  sturdy  weaver  and  fervent  lover 
whom  I  had  the  right  to  call  my  friend.  Turn  back 
the  century  a  few  decades,  and  we  are  together  on  a 
moonlight  night,  taking  a  short  cut  through  the 
fields  from  the  farm  of  Craigiebuckle.  Buxom 
were  Craigiebuckle's  "dochters,"  and  Jamie  was 
Janet's  accepted  suitor.  It  was  a  muddy  road 
through  damp  grass,  and  we  picked  our  way  silently 
over  its  ruts  and  pools.  "  I'm  thinkin',"  Jamie 
said  at  last,  a  little  wistfully,  "  that  I  micht  hae 
been  as  weel  wi'  Chirsty."  Chirsty  was  Janet's 
sister,  and  Jamie  had  first  thought  of  her.  Craigie- 
buckle, however,  strongly  advised  him  to  take 
Janet  instead,  and  he  consented.  Alack  I  heavy 
wobs  have  taken  all  the  grace  from  Janet's  shoul- 
ders this  many  a  year,  though  she  and  Jamie  go 
bravely  down  the  hill  together.     Unless  they  pass 

74 


LADS   AND   LASSES 

the  allotted  span  of  life,  the  "  poorshouse  "  will 
never  know  them.  As  for  bonny  Chirsty,  she 
proved  a  flighty  thing,  and  married  a  deacon  in  the 
Established  Church.  The  Auld  Lichts  groaned 
over  her  fall,  Craigiebuckle  hung  his  head,  and 
the  minister  told  her  sternly  to  go  her  way.  But 
a  few  weeks  afterwards  Lang  Tammas,  the  chief 
elder,  was  observed  talking  with  her  for  an  hour 
in  Gowrie's  close;  and  the  very  next  Sabbath 
Chirsty  pushed  her  husband  in  triumph  into  her 
father's  pew.  The  minister,  though  completely 
taken  by  surprise,  at  once  referred  to  the  stranger, 
in  a  prayer  of  great  length,  as  a  brand  that  might 
yet  be  plucked  from  the  burning.  Changing  his 
text,  he  preached  at  him ;  Lang  Tammas,  the  pre- 
centor, and  the  whole  congregation  (Chirsty  in- 
cluded), sang  at  him;  and  before  he  exactly  realized 
his  position  he  had  become  an  Auld  Licht  for  life. 
Chirsty's  triumph  was  complete  when,  next  week, 
in  broad  daylight,  too,  the  minister's  wife  called, 
and  (in  the  presence  of  Betsy  Munn,  who  vouches 
for  the  truth  of  the  story)  graciously  asked  her  to 
come  up  to  the  manse  on  Thursday,  at  4  p.  m., 
and  drink  a  dish  of  tea.  Chirsty,  who  knew  her 
position,  of  course  begged  modestly  to  be  excused ; 
but  a  coolness  arose  over  the  invitation  between 
her  and  Janet  —  who  felt  slighted  —  that  was  only 
made  up  at  the  laying-out  of  Chirsty's  father-in- 
law,  to  which  Janet  was  pleasantly  invited. 

IS 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

When  they  had  red  up  the  house,  the  Auld 
Licht  lassies  sat  in  the  gloaming  at  their  doors  on 
three-legged  stools,  patiently  knitting  stockings. 
To  them  came  stiff-limbed  youths  who,  with  a 
"  Blawy  nicht,  Jeanie  "  (to  which  the  inevitable 
answer  was,  "  It  is  so,  Cha-rles "),  rested  their 
shoulders  on  the  doorpost,  and  silently  followed 
with  their  eyes  the  flashing  needles.  Thus  the 
courtship  began  —  often  to  ripen  promptly  into 
marriage,  at  other  times  to  go  no  further.  The 
smooth-haired  maids,  neat  in  their  simple  wrap- 
pers, knew  they  were  on  their  trial  and  that  it 
behoved  them  to  be  wary.  They  had  not  com- 
passed twenty  winters  without  knowing  that  Mar- 
get  Todd  lost  Davie  Haggart  because  she  "  fittit " 
a  black  stocking  with  brown  worsted,  and  that 
Finny's  grieve  turned  from  Bell  Whamond  on  ac- 
count of  the  frivolous  flowers  in  her  bonnet :  and 
yet  Bell's  prospects,  as  I  happen  to  know,  at  one 
time  looked  bright  and  promising.  Sitting  over 
her  father's  peat-fire  one  night  gossiping  with  him 
about  fishing-flies  and  tackle,  I  noticed  the  grieve, 
who  had  dropped  in  by  appointment  with  some 
ducks'  eggs  on  which  Bell's  clockin  hen  was  to 
sit,  performing  some  sleight-of-hand  trick  with  his 
coat-sleeve.  Craftily  he  jerked  and  twisted  it,  till 
his  own  photograph  (a  black  smudge  on  white) 
gradually  appeared  to  view.  This  he  gravely 
slipped  into  the  hands  of  the  maid  of  his  choice, 

76 


LADS   AND   LASSES 

and  then  took  his  departure,  apparently  much  re- 
lieved. Had  not  Bell's  light-headedness  driven 
him  away,  the  grieve  would  have  soon  followed 
up  his  gift  with  an  offer  of  his  hand.  Some  night 
Bell  would  have  "  seen  him  to  the  door,"  and  they 
would  have  stared  sheepishly  at  each  other  before 
saying  good-night.  The  parting  salutation  given, 
the  grieve  would  still  have  stood  his  ground,  and 
Bell  would  have  waited  with  him.  At  last,  "Will 
ye  hae's.  Bell  ?  "  would  have  dropped  from  his 
half-reluctant  lips;  and  Bell  would  have  mum- 
bled "  Ay,"  with  her  thumb  in  her  mouth.  "  Guid 
nicht  to  ye.  Bell,"  would  be  the  next  remark  — 
"  Guid  nicht  to  ye,  Jeames,"  the  answer ;  the 
humble  door  would  close  softly,  and  Bell  and  her 
lad  would  have  been  engaged.  But,  as  it  was, 
their  attachment  never  got  beyond  the  silhouette 
stage,  from  which,  in  the  ethics  of  the  Auld  Lichts, 
a  man  can  draw  back  in  certain  circumstances, 
without  loss  of  honour.  The  only  really  tender 
thing  I  ever  heard  an  Auld  Licht  lover  say  to 
his  sweetheart  was  when  Gowrie's  brother  looked 
softly  into  Easie  Tamson's  eyes  and  whispered, 
"  Do  you  swite  (sweat)  "?  "  Even  then  the  effect 
was  produced  more  by  the  loving  cast  in  Gowrie's 
eye  than  by  the  tenderness  of  the  words  themselves. 
The  courtships  were  sometimes  of  long  dura- 
tion, but  as  soon  as  the  young  man  realized  that 
he  was   courting  he   proposed.     Cases  were    not 

77 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

wanting  in  which  he  reahzed  this  for  himself,  but 
as  a  rule  he  had  to  be  told  of  it. 

There  were  a  few  instances  of  weddings  among 
the  Auld  Lichts  that  did  not  take  place  on  Friday. 
Betsy  Munn's  brother  thought  to  assert  his  two 
coal-carts,  about  which  he  was  sinfully  puffed  up, 
by  getting  married  early  in  the  week ;  but  he  was 
a  pragmatical  feckless  body,  Jamie.  The  foreigner 
from  York  that  Finny's  grieve  after  disappoint- 
ing Bell  Whamond  took,  sought  to  sow  the  seeds 
of  strife  by  urging  that  Friday  was  an  unlucky 
day;  and  I  remember  how  the  minister,  who  was 
always  great  in  a  crisis,  nipped  the  bickering  in 
the  bud  by  adducing  the  conclusive  fact  that  he 
had  been  married  on  the  sixth  day  of  the  week 
himself*  It  was  a  judicious  policy  on  Mr.  Dish- 
art's  part  to  take  vigorous  action  at  once  and  in- 
sist on  the  solemnization  of  the  marriage  on  a 
Friday  or  not  at  all,  for  he  best  kept  superstition 
out  of  the  congregation  by  branding  it  as  heresy. 
Perhaps  the  Auld  Lichts  were  only  ignorant  of 
the  grieve's  lass's  theory  because  they  had  not 
thought  of  it.  Friday's  claims,  too,  were  incon- 
trovertible; for  the  Saturday's  being  a  slack  day 
gave  the  couple  an  opportunity  to  put  their  but 
and  ben  in  order,  and  on  Sabbath  they  had  a  gay 
day  of  it,  three  times  at  the  kirk.  The  honeymoon 
over,  the  racket  of  the  loom  began  again  on  the 
Monday. 

78 


LADS   AND   LASSES 

The  natural  politeness  of  the  AUardice  family 
gave  me  my  invitation  to  Tibbie's  wedding.  I 
was  taking  tea  and  cheese  early  one  wintry  after- 
noon with  the  smith  and  his  wife,  when  little  Joey 
Todd  in  his  Sabbath  clothes  peered  in  at  the  pas- 
sage, and  then  knocked  primly  at  the  door.  An- 
dra  forgot  himself,  and  called  out  to  him  to  come 
in  by ;  but  Jess  frowned  him  into  silence,  and  has- 
tily donning  her  black  mutch,  received  Willie  on 
the  threshold.  Both  halves  of  the  door  were  open, 
and  the  visitor  had  looked  us  over  carefully  before 
knocking ;  but  he  had  come  with  the  compliments 
of  Tibbie's  mother,  requesting  the  pleasure  of  Jess 
and  her  man  that  evening  to  the  lassie's  marriage 
with  Sam'l  Todd,  and  the  knocking  at  the  door 
was  part  of  the  ceremony.  Five  minutes  after- 
wards Joey  returned  to  beg  a  moment  of  me  in 
the  passage;  when  I,  too,  got  my  invitation.  The 
lad  had  just  received,  with  an  expression  of  polite 
surprise,  though  he  knew  he  could  claim  it  as  his 
right,  a  slice  of  crumbling  shortbread,  and  taken 
his  staid  departure,  when  Jess  cleared  the  tea- 
things  off  the  table,  remarking  simply  that  it  was 
a  mercy  we  had  not  got  beyond  the  first  cup. 
We  then  retired  to  dress. 

About  six  o'clock,  the  time  announced  for  the 
ceremony,  I  elbowed  my  way  through  the  expec- 
tant throng  of  men,  women,  and  children  that  al- 
ready besieged  the  smith's  door.     Shrill  demands 

79 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

of  "  Toss,  toss  I  "  rent  the  air  every  time  Jess's 
head  showed  on  the  window-bHnd,  and  Andra 
hoped,  as  I  pushed  open  the  door,  "  that  I  hadna 
forgotten  my  bawbees."  Weddings  were  cele- 
brated among  the  Auld  Lichts  by  showers  of  ha'- 
pence, and  the  guests  on  their  way  to  the  bride's 
house  had  to  scatter  to  the  hungry  rabble  like 
housewives  feeding  poultry.  Willie  Todd,  the 
best  man,  who  had  never  come  out  so  strong  in 
his  life  before,  slipped  through  the  back  window, 
while  the  crowd,  led  on  by  Kitty  McQueen, 
seethed  in  front,  and  making  a  bolt  for  it  to  the 
"  'Sosh,"  was  back  in  a  moment  with  a  handful  of 
small  change.  "  Dinna  toss  ower  lavishly  at  first," 
the  smith  whispered  me  nervously,  as  we  followed 
Jess  and  Willie  into  the  darkening  wynd. 

The  guests  were  packed  hot  and  solemn  in 
Johnny  Allardice's  "  room  :  "  the  men  anxious  to 
surrender  their  seats  to  the  ladies  who  happened 
to  be  standing,  but  too  bashful  to  propose  it ;  the 
ham  and  the  fish  frizzling  noisily  side  by  side  but 
the  house,  and  hissing  out  every  now  and  then  to 
let  all  whom  it  might  concern  know  that  Janet 
Craik  was  adding  more  water  to  the  gravy.  A 
better  woman  never  lived ;  but,  oh,  the  hypocrisy 
of  the  face  that  beamed  greeting  to  the  guests  as 
if  it  had  nothing  to  do  but  politely  show  them  in, 
and  gasped  next  moment  with  upraised  arms,  over 
what  was  nearly  a  fall  in  crockery.     When  Janet 

80 


LADS   AND   LASSES 

sped  to  the  door  her  "  spleet  new  "  merino  dress 
fell,  to  the  pulling  of  a  string,  over  her  home-made 
petticoat,  like  the  drop-scene  in  a  theatre,  and  rose 
as  promptly  when  she  returned  to  slice  the  bacon. 
The  murmur  of  admiration  that  filled  the  room 
when  she  entered  with  the  minister  was  an  invol- 
untary tribute  to  the  spotlessness  of  her  wrapper 
and  a  great  triumph  for  Janet.  If  there  is  an  im- 
pression that  the  dress  of  the  Auld  Lichts  was  on 
all  occasions  as  sombre  as  their  faces,  let  it  be 
known  that  the  bride  was  but  one  of  several  in 
"whites,"  and  that  Mag  Munn  had  only  at  the 
last  moment  been  dissuaded  from  wearing  flowers. 
The  minister,  the  Auld  Lichts  congratulated  them- 
selves, disapproved  of  all  such  decking  of  the  per- 
son and  bowing  of  the  head  to  idols ;  but  on  such 
an  occasion  he  was  not  expected  to  observe  it. 
Bell  Whamond,  however,  has  reason  for  knowing 
that,  marriages  or  no  marriages,  he  drew  the  line 
at  curls. 

By  and  by  Sam'l  Todd,  looking  a  little  dazed, 
was  pushed  into  the  middle  of  the  room  to  Tib- 
bie's side,  and  the  minister  raised  his  voice  in 
prayer.  All  eyes  closed  reverently,  except  per- 
haps the  bridegroom's,  which  seemed  glazed  and 
vacant.  It  was  an  open  question  in  the  commu- 
nity whether  Mr.  Dishart  did  not  miss  his  chance  at 
weddings;  the  men  shaking  their  heads  over  the 
comparative  brevity  of  the  ceremony,  the  women 

81 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

worshipping  him  (though  he  never  hesitated  to  re- 
buke them  when  they  showed  it  too  openly)  for 
the  urbanity  of  his  manners.  At  that  time,  how- 
ever, only  a  minister  of  such  experience  as  Mr. 
Dishart's  predecessor  could  lead  up  to  a  marriage 
in  prayer  without  inadvertently  joining  the  couple  ; 
and  the  catechizing  was  mercifully  brief  Another 
prayer  followed  the  union ;  the  minister  waived 
his  right  to  kiss  the  bride ;  every  one  looked  at 
every  other  one,  as  if  he  had  for  the  moment  for- 
gotten what  he  was  on  the  point  of  saying  and 
found  it  very  annoying ;  and  Janet  signed  franti- 
cally to  Willie  Todd,  who  nodded  intelligently  in 
reply,  but  evidently  had  no  idea  what  she  meant. 
In  time  Johnny  AUardice,  our  host,  who  became 
more  and  more  doited  as  the  night  proceeded,  re- 
membered his  instructions,  and  led  the  way  to  the 
kitchen,  where  the  guests,  having  politely  informed 
their  hostess  that  they  were  not  hungry,  partook 
of  a  hearty  tea.  Mr.  Dishart  presided  with  the 
bride  and  bridegroom  near  him ;  but  though  he 
tried  to  give  an  agreeable  turn  to  the  conversation 
by  describing  the  extensions  at  the  cemetery,  his 
personality  oppressed  us,  and  we  only  breathed 
freely  when  he  rose  to  go.  Yet  we  marvelled  at 
his  versatility.  In  shaking  hands  with  the  newly- 
married  couple  the  minister  reminded  them  that  it 
was  leap-year,  and  wished  them  "  three  hundred 
and  sixty-six  happy  and  God-fearing  days." 

82 


LADS   AND   LASSES 

Sam'l's  station  being  too  high  for  it,  Tibbie  did 
not  have  a  penny  wedding,  which  her  thrifty  mo- 
ther bewailed,  penny  weddings  starting  a  couple  in 
life.  I  can  recall  nothing  more  characteristic  of 
the  nation  from  which  the  Auld  Lichts  sprung 
than  the  penny  wedding,  where  the  only  revellers 
that  were  not  out  of  pocket  by  it,  were  the  couple 
who  gave  the  entertainment.  The  more  the  guests 
ate  and  drank  the  better,  pecuniarily,  for  their 
hosts.  The  charge  for  admission  to  the  penny 
wedding  (practically  to  the  feast  that  followed  it) 
varied  in  different  districts,  but  with  us  it  was 
generally  a  shilling.  Perhaps  the  penny  extra  to 
the  fiddler  accounts  for  the  name  penny  wedding. 
The  ceremony  having  been  gone  through  in  the 
bride's  house,  there  was  an  adjournment  to  a  barn 
or  other  convenient  place  of  meeting,  where  was 
held  the  nuptial  feast ;  long  white  boards  from  Rob 
Angus's  sawmill,  supported  on  trestles,  stood  in 
lieu  of  tables;  and  those  of  the  company  who 
could  not  find  a  seat  waited  patiently  against  the 
wall  for  a  vacancy.  The  shilling  gave  every  guest 
the  free  run  of  the  groaning  board,  but  though 
fowls  were  plentiful,  and  even  white  bread  too, 
little  had  been  spent  on  them.  The  farmers  of 
the  neighbourhood,  who  looked  forward  to  pro- 
viding the  young  people  with  drills  of  potatoes 
for  the  coming  winter,  made  a  bid  for  their  cus- 
tom by  sending  them  a  fowl  gratis  for  the  mar- 

83 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

riage  supper.  It  was  popularly  understood  to  be 
the  oldest  cock  of  the  farmyard,  but  for  all  that  it 
made  a  brave  appearance  in  a  shallow  sea  of  soup. 
The  fowls  were  always  boiled  —  without  excep- 
tion, so  far  as  my  memory  carries  me ;  the  guid- 
wife  never  having  the  heart  to  roast  them,  and  so 
lose  the  broth.  One  round  of  whisky-and-water 
was  all  the  drink  to  which  his  shilling  entitled  the 
guest.  If  he  wanted  more  he  had  to  pay  for  it. 
There  was  much  revelry,  with  song  and  dance, 
that  no  stranger  -could  have  thought  those  stiff- 
limbed  weavers  capable  of;  and  the  more  they 
shouted  and  whirled  through  the  barn,  the  more 
their  host  smiled  and  rubbed  his  hands.  He  pre- 
sided at  the  bar  improvised  for  the  occasion,  and 
if  the  thing  was  conducted  with  spirit,  his  bride 
flung  an  apron  over  her  gown  and  helped  him.  I 
remember  one  elderly  bridegroom,  who,  having 
married  a  blind  woman,  had  to  do  double  work  at 
his  penny  wedding.  It  was  a  sight  to  see  him 
flitting  about  the  torch-lit  barn,  with  a  kettle  of 
hot  water  in  one  hand  and  a  besom  to  sweep  up 
crumbs  in  the  other. 

Though  Sam'l  had  no  penny  wedding,  however, 
we  made  a  night  of  it  at  his  marriage. 

Wedding  chariots  were  not  in  those  days, 
though  I  know  of  Auld  Lichts  being  conveyed  to 
marriages  nowadays  by  horses  with  white  ears. 
The  tea  over,  we  formed  in  couples,  and  —  the 

84 


LADS   AND   LASSES 

best  man  with  the  bride,  the  bridegroom  with  the 
best  maid,  leading  the  way  — marched    in   slow 
procession  in  the  moonlight  night  to  Tibbie's  new 
home,  between  lines  of  hoarse  and  eager  onlook- 
ers.    An  attempt  was  made  by  an  itinerant  musi- 
cian to  head   the   company  with  his  fiddle;  but 
instrumental  music,  even  in  the  streets,  was  abhor- 
rent to  sound  Auld  Lichts,  and  the  minister  had 
spoken  privately  to  Willie  Todd  on  the  subject. 
As   a    consequence,    Peter   was    driven   from   the 
ranks.     The  last  thing   I   saw  that  night,  as  we 
filed,  bare-headed  and  solemn,  into  the  newly-mar- 
ried couple's  house,  was  Kitty  McQueen's  vigor- 
ous arm,  in  a  dishevelled  sleeve,  pounding  a  pair 
of  urchins  who  had  got  between  her  and  a  muddy 
ha'penny. 

That  night  there  was  revelry  and  boisterous 
mirth  (or  what  the  Auld  Lichts  took  for  such)  in 
Tibbie's  kitchen.  At  eleven  o'clock  Davit  Lunan 
cracked  a  joke.  Davie  Haggart,  in  reply  to  Bell 
Dundas's  request,  gave  a  song  of  distinctly  secular 
tendencies.  The  bride  (who  had  carefully  taken 
off  her  wedding  gown  on  getting  home  and  donned 
a  wrapper)  coquettishly  let  the  bridegroom's  father 
hold  her  hand.  In  Auld  Licht  circles,  when  one 
of  the  company  was  offered  whisky  and  retused  it, 
the  others,  as  if  pained  even  at  the  offer,  pushed  it 
from  them  as  a  thing  abhorred.  But  Davie  Hag- 
gart set  another  example  on  this  occasion,  and  no 

85 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

one  had  the  courage  to  refuse  to  follow  it.  We 
sat  late  round  the  dying  fire,  and  it  was  only  Wil- 
lie Todd's  scandalous  assertion  (he  was  but  a  boy) 
about  his  being  able  to  dance  that  induced  us  to 
think  of  moving.  In  the  community,  I  under- 
stand, this  marriage  is  still  memorable  as  the  occa- 
sion on  which  Bell  Whamond  laughed  in  the 
minister's  face. 


86 


CHAPTER   V 

THE    AULD    LIGHTS    IN    ARMS 

Arms  and  men  I  sing :  douce  Jeemsy  Todd,  rush- 
ing from  his  loom,  armed  with  a  bed-post;  Lis- 
beth  Whamond,  an  avenging  whirlwind;  Neil 
Haggart,  pausing  in  his  thanks-offerings  to  smite 
and  slay;  the  impious  foe  scudding  up  the  bleed- 
ing Brae-head  with  Nemesis  at  their  flashing  heels ; 
the  minister  holding  it  a  nice  question  whether  the 
carnage  was  not  justified.  Then  came  the  two 
hours'  sermons  of  the  following  Sabbath,  when 
Mr.  Dishart,  revolving  like  a  teetotum  in  the  pul- 
pit, damned  every  bandaged  person  present,  indi- 
vidually and  collectively ;  and  Lang  Tammas,  in 
the  precentor's  box  with  a  plaster  on  his  cheek, 
included  any  one  the  minister  might  have  by 
chance  omitted,  and  the  congregation,  with  most  of 
their  eyes  bunged  up,  burst  into  psalms  of  praise. 

Twice  a  year  the  Auld  Lichts  went  demented. 
The  occasion  was  the  Fast  Day  at  Tilliedrum ; 
when  its  inhabitants,  instead  of  crowding  reverently 
to  the  kirk,  swooped  profanely  down  in  their  scores 
and  tens  of  scores  on  our  God-fearing  town,  intent 

87 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

on  making  a  day  of  it.  Then  did  the  weavers  rise 
as  one  man,  and  go  forth  to  show  the  ribald  crew 
the  errors  of  their  way.  All  denominations  were 
represented,  but  Auld  Lichts  led.  An  Auld  Licht 
would  have  taken  no  man's  blood  without  the 
conviction  that  he  would  be  the  better  morally  for 
the  bleeding;  and  if  Tammas  Lunan's  case  gave 
an  impetus  to  the  blows,  it  can  only  have  been 
because  it  opened  wider  Auld  Licht  eyes  to  Tillie- 
drum's  desperate  condition.  Mr.  Dishart's  pre- 
decessor more  than  once  remarked,  that  at  the 
Creation  the  devil  put  forward  a  claim  for  Thrums, 
but  said  he  would  take  his  chance  of  Tilliedrum ; 
and  the  statement  was  generally  understood  to  be 
made  on  the  authority  of  the  original  Hebrew. 

The  mustard-seed  of  a  feud  between  the  two 
parishes  shot  into  a  tall  tree  in  a  single  night,  when 
Davit  Lunan's  father  went  to  a  tattie  roup  at 
Tilliedrum  and  thoughtlessly  died  there.  Twenty- 
four  hours  afterwards  a  small  party  of  staid  Auld 
Lichts,  carrying  long  white  poles,  stepped  out  of 
various  wynds  and  closes  and  picked  their  solemn 
way  to  the  house  of  mourning.  Nanny  Low,  the 
widow,  received  them  dejectedly,  as  one  oppressed 
by  the  knowledge  that  her  man's  death  at  such  an 
inopportune  place  did  not  fulfil  the  promise  of  his 
youth ;  and  her  guests  admitted  bluntly  that  they 
were  disappointed  in  Tammas.  Snecky  Hobart's 
father's  unusually  long  and  impressive  prayer  was 

88 


THE   AULD   LIGHTS   IN   ARMS 

an  ofRcial  intimation  that  the  deceased,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  session,  sorely  needed  everything 
of  the  kind  he  could  get ;  and  then  the  silent  drib- 
let of  Auld  Lichts  in  black  stalked  off  in  the  di- 
rection of  Tilliedrum.  Women  left  their  spin- 
ning-wheels and  pirns  to  follow  them  with  their 
eyes  along  the  Tenements,  and  the  minister  was 
known  to  be  holding  an  extra  service  at  the  manse. 
When  the  little  procession  reached  the  boundary- 
line  between  the  two  parishes,  they  sat  down  on  a 
dyke  and  waited. 

By  and  by  half  a  dozen  men  drew  near  from  the 
opposite  direction,  bearing  on  poles  the  remains 
of  Tammas  Lunan  in  a  closed  coffin.  The  coffin 
was  brought  to  within  thirty  yards  of  those  who 
awaited  it,  and  then  roughly  lowered  to  the  ground. 
Its  bearers  rested  morosely  on  their  poles.  In 
conveying  Lunan's  remains  to  the  borders  of  his 
own  parish  they  were  only  conforming  to  custom ; 
but  Thrums  and  Tilliedrum  differed  as  to  where 
the  boundary-line  was  drawn,  and  not  a  foot  would 
either  advance  into  the  other's  territory.  For  half 
a  day  the  coffin  lay  unclaimed,  and  the  two  par- 
ties sat  scowling  at  each  other.  Neither  dared 
move.  Gloaming  had  stolen  into  the  valley  when 
Dite  Deuchars  of  Tilliedrum  rose  to  his  feet  and 
deliberately  spat  upon  the  coffin.  A  stone  whizzed 
through  the  air ;  and  then  the  ugly  spectacle  was 
presented,  in   the    grey  night,  of  a   dozen  mutes 

89 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

fighting  with  their  poles  over  a  coffin.  There  was 
blood  on  the  shoulders  that  bore  Tammas's  re- 
mains to  Thrums. 

After  that  meeting  Tilliedrum  lived  for  the  Fast 
Day.  Never,  perhaps,  was  there  a  community 
more  given  up  to  sin,  and  Thrums  felt  "  called  " 
to  its  chastisement.  The  insult  to  Lunan's  coffin, 
however,  dispirited  their  weavers  for  a  time,  and 
not  until  the  suicide  of  Pitlums  did  they  put  much 
fervour  into  their  prayers.  It  made  new  men  of 
them.  Tilliedrum's  sins  had  found  it  out.  Pit- 
lums was  a  farmer  in  the  parish  of  Thrums,  but 
he  had  been  born  at  Tilliedrum ;  and  Thrums 
thanked  Providence  for  that,  when  it  saw  him  sus- 
pended between  two  hams  from  his  kitchen  rafters. 
The  custom  was  to  cart  suicides  to  the  quarry 
at  the  Galla  pond  and  bury  them  near  the  cairn 
that  had  supported  the  gallows ;  but  on  this  occa- 
sion not  a  farmer  in  the  parish  would  lend  a  cart, 
and  for  a  week  the  corpse  lay  on  the  sanded  floor 
as  it  had  been  cut  down  —  an  object  of  awe-struck 
interest  to  boys  who  knew  no  better  than  to  peep 
through  the  darkened  window.  Tilliedrum  bit  its 
lips  at  home.  The  Auld  Licht  minister,  it  was 
said,  had  been  approached  on  the  subject ;  but, 
after  serious  consideration,  did  not  see  his  way  to 
offering  up  a  prayer.  Finally  old  Hobart  and  two 
others  tied  a  rope  round  the  body,  and  dragged  it 
from  the  farm  to  the  cairn,  a  distance  of  four  miles. 

90 


THE   AULD   LIGHTS   IN   ARMS 

Instead  of  this  incident's  humbling  TiUiedrum  into 
attending  church,  the  next  Fast  Day  saw  its  streets 
deserted.  As  for  the  Thrums  Auld  Lichts,  only 
heavy  wobs  prevented  their  walking  erect  like 
men  who  had  done  their  duty.  If  no  prayer  was 
volunteered  for  Pitlums  before  his  burial,  there 
was  a  great  deal  of  psalm-singing  after  it. 

By  early  morn  on  their  Fast  Day  the  Tillie- 
drummers  were  straggling  into  Thrums,  and  the 
weavers,  already  at  their  looms,  read  the  clattering 
of  feet  and  carts  aright.  To  convince  themselves, 
all  they  had  to  do  was  to  raise  their  eyes ;  but  the 
first  triumph  would  have  been  to  TiUiedrum  if 
they  had  done  that.  The  invaders  —  the  men  in 
Aberdeen  blue  serge  coats,  velvet  knee-breeches, 
and  broad  blue  bonnets,  and  the  wincey  gowns  of 
the  women  set  off  with  hooded  cloaks  of  red  or 
tartan  —  tapped  at  the  windows  and  shouted  insult- 
ingly as  they  passed ;  but,  with  pursed  lips.  Thrums 
bent  fiercely  over  its  wobs,  and  not  an  Auld  Licht 
showed  outside  his  door.  The  day  wore  on  to 
noon,  and  still  ribaldry  was  master  of  the  wynds. 
But  there  was  a  change  inside  the  houses.  The 
minister  had  pulled  down  his  blinds ;  moody  men 
had  left  their  looms  for  stools  by  the  fire;  there  were 
rumours  of  a  conflict  in  Andra  Gowrie's  close, 
from  which  Kitty  McQueen  had  emerged  with  her 
short  gown  in  rags ;  and  Lang  Tammas  was  going 
from  door  to  door.     The  austere  precentor  admon- 

91 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

ished  fiery  youth  to  beware  of  giving  way  to  pas- 
sion ;  and  it  was  a  proud  day  for  the  Auld  Lichts 
to  find  their  leading  elder  so  conversant  with  apt 
Scripture  texts.  They  bowed  their  heads  rever- 
ently while  he  thundered  forth  that  those  who 
lived  by  the  sword  would  perish  by  the  sword ; 
and  when  he  had  finished  they  took  him  ben  to 
inspect  their  bludgeons.  I  have  a  vivid  recol- 
lection of  going  the  round  of  the  Auld  Licht  and 
other  houses  to  see  the  sticks  and  the  wrists  in 
coils  of  wire. 

A  stranger  in  the  Tenements  in  the  afternoon 
would  have  noted  more  than  one  draggled  youth, 
in  holiday  attire,  sitting  on  a  doorstep  with  a  wet 
cloth  to  his  nose ;  and,  passing  down  the  Com- 
monty,  he  would  have  had  to  step  over  prostrate 
lumps  of  humanity  from  which  all  shape  had  de- 
parted. Gavin  Ogilvy  limped  heavily  after  his 
encounter  with  Thrummy  Tosh  —  a  struggle  that 
was  looked  forward  to  eagerly  as  a  bi-yearly  event ; 
Chirsty  Davie's  development  of  muscle  had  not 
prevented  her  going  down  before  the  terrible  on- 
slaught of  Joe  the  miller,  and  Lang  Tammas's 
plasters  told  a  tale.  It  was  in  the  square  that  the 
two  parties,  leading  their  maimed  and  blind,  formed 
in  force ;  Tilliedrum  thirsting  for  its  opponents' 
blood,  and  Thrums  humbly  accepting  the  respon- 
sibility of  punching  the  Fast  Day  breakers  into  the 
ways  of  rectitude.     In   the  small  ill-kept  square 

92 


THE   AULD   LIGHTS   IN   ARMS 

the  invaders,  to  the  number  of  about  a  hundred, 
were  wedged  together  at  its  upper  end,  while  the 
Thrums  people  formed  in  a  thick  line  at  the  foot. 
For   its   inhabitants  the    way    to    Tilliedrum    lay 
through  this  threatening  mass  of  armed  weavers. 
No  words  were  bandied  between  the  two  forces; 
the  centre  of  the  square  was  left  open,  and  nearly 
every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  town-house  clock.    It  di- 
rected operations  and  gave  the  signal  to  charge. 
The  moment  six  o'clock  struck,  the  upper  mass 
broke  its  bonds  and  flung  itself  on  the  living  barri- 
cade.    There  was  a  clatter  of  heads  and  sticks,  a 
yelling  and  a  groaning,  and   then  the  invaders, 
bursting  through  the  opposing  ranks,  fled  for  Til- 
liedrum.    Down  the  Tanage  brae  and  up  the  Brae- 
head  they  skurried,  half  a  hundred  avenging  spirits 
in  pursuit.     On  the  Tilliedrum  Fast  Day  I  have 
tasted  blood  myself     In  the  godless  place  there  is 
no  Auld  Licht  kirk,  but  there  are  two  Auld  Lichts 
in  it  now  who  walk  to  Thrums  to  church  every  Sab- 
bath, blow  or  rain  as  it  lists.     They  are  making 
their  influence  felt  in  Tilliedrum. 

The  Auld  Lichts  also  did  valorous  deeds  at  the 
Battle  of  Cabbylatch.  The  farm  land  so  named 
lies  a  mile  or  more  to  the  south  of  Thrums.  You 
have  to  go  over  the  rim  of  the  cup  to  reach  it.  It 
is  low-lying  and  uninteresting  to  the  eye,  except 
for  some  giant  stones  scattered  cold  and  naked 
through  the  fields.    No  human  hands  reared  these 

93 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

boulders,  but  they  might  be  looked  upon  as  tomb- 
stones to  the  heroes  who  fell  (to  rise  hurriedly)  on 
the  plain  of  Cabbylatch. 

The  fight  of  Cabbylatch  belongs  to  the  days  of 
what  are  now  but  dimly  remembered  as  the  Meal 
Mobs.  Then  there  was  a  wild  cry  all  over  the 
country  for  bread  (not  the  fine  loaves  that  we 
know,  but  something  very  much  coarser),  and 
hungry  men  and  women,  prematurely  shrunken, 
began  to  forget  the  taste  of  meal.  Potatoes  were 
their  chief  sustenance,  and,  when  the  crop  failed, 
starvation  gripped  them.  At  that  time  the  far- 
mers, having  control  of  the  meal,  had  the  small 
towns  at  their  mercy,  and  they  increased  its  cost. 
The  price  of  the  meal  went  up  and  up,  until  the 
famishing  people  swarmed  up  the  sides  of  the 
carts  in  which  it  was  conveyed  to  the  towns,  and, 
tearing  open  the  sacks,  devoured  it  in  handfuls. 
In  Thrums  they  had  a  stern  sense  of  justice,  and 
for  a  time,  after  taking  possession  of  the  meal, 
they  carried  it  to  the  square  and  sold  it  at  what 
they  considered  a  reasonable  price.  The  money 
was  handed  over  to  the  farmers.  The  honesty  of 
this  is  worth  thinking  about,  but  it  seems  to  have 
only  incensed  the  farmers  the  more ;  and  when 
they  saw  that  to  send  their  meal  to  the  town  was 
not  to  get  high  prices  for  it,  they  laid  their  heads 
together  and  then  gave  notice  that  the  people  who 
wanted  meal  and  were  able  to  pay  for   it  must 

94 


THE   AULD   LIGHTS   IN    ARMS 

come  to  the  farms.  In  Thrums  no  one  who  cared 
to  Hve  on  porridge  and  bannocks  had  money  to 
satisfy  the  farmers ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  none 
of  them  grudged  going  for  it,  and  go  they  did. 
They  went  in  numbers  from  farm  to  tarm,  hke 
bands  of  hungry  rats,  and  throttled  the  opposition 
they  not  infrequently  encountered.  The  ragmg 
farmers  at  last  met  in  council  and,  noting  that 
they  were  lusty  men  and  brave,  resolved  to  march 
in  armed  force  upon  the  erring  people  and  burn 
their  town.  Now  we  come  to  the  Battle  of  Cab- 
by latch. 

The  farmers  were  not  less  than  eighty  strong, 
and  chiefly  consisted   of  cavalry.      Armed  with 
pitchforks  and  cumbrous  scythes  where  they  were 
not  able  to  lay  their  hands  on  the  more  orthodox 
weapons  of  war,  they  presented  a  determined  ap- 
pearance ;  the  few  foot-soldiers  who  had  no  cart- 
horses   at    their    disposal    bearing    in    their    arms 
bundles  of  fire-wood.     One  memorable  morning 
they  set  out  to  avenge  their  losses ;  and  by  and  by 
a  halt  was  called,  when  each  man  bowed  his  head 
to  listen.     In  Thrums,  pipe  and  drum  were  calling 
the  inhabitants  to  arms.     Scouts  rushed  in  with 
the  news  that  the  farmers  were  advancing  rapidly 
upon  the  town,  and  soon  the  streets  were  clatter- 
ing with  feet.     At  that  time  Thrums  had  its  piper 
and  drummer  (the  bellman  of  a  later  and  more 
degenerate  age)  ;  and  on  this  occasion  they  marched 

95 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

together  through  the  narrow  wynds,  firing  the  blood 
of  haggard  men  and  summoning  them  to  the  square. 
According  to  my  informant's  father,  the  gathering 
of  these  angry  and  startled  weavers,  when  he  thrust 
his  blue  bonnet  on  his  head  and  rushed  out  to  join 
them,  was  an  impressive  and  solemn  spectacle. 
That  bloodshed  was  meant  there  can  be  no  doubt ; 
for  starving  men  do  not  see  the  ludicrous  side  of 
things.  The  difference  between  the  farmers  and 
the  town  had  resolved  itself  into  an  ugly  and  sul- 
len hate,  and  the  wealthier  townsmen  who  would 
have  come  between  the  people  and  the  bread  were 
fiercely  pushed  aside.  There  was  no  nominal 
leader,  but  every  man  in  the  ranks  meant  to  fight 
for  himself  and  his  belongings ;  and  they  are  said 
to  have  sallied  out  to  meet  the  foe  in  no  disorder. 
The  women  they  would  fain  have  left  behind  them ; 
but  these  had  their  own  injuries  to  redress,  and  they 
followed  in  their  husbands'  wake  carrying  bags  of 
stones.  The  men,  who  were  of  various  denomi- 
nations, were  armed  with  sticks,  blunderbusses, 
anything  they  could  snatch  up  at  a  moment's 
notice ;  and  some  of  them  were  not  unacquainted 
with  fighting.  Dire  silence  prevailed  among  the 
men,  but  the  women  shouted  as  they  ran,  and  the 
curious  army  moved  forward  to  the  drone  and 
squall  of  drum  and  pipe.  The  enemy  was  sighted 
on  the  level  land  of  Cabbylatch ;  and  here,  while 
the  intending  combatants  glared  at  each  other,  a 

96 


THE   AULD   LIGHTS   IN   ARMS 

well-known  local  magnate  galloped  his  horse  be- 
tween them  and  ordered  them  in  the  name  of  the 
King  to  return  to  their  homes.  But  for  the  farmers 
that  meant  further  depredation  at  the  people's 
hands,  and  the  townsmen  would  not  go  back  to 
their  gloomy  homes  to  sit  down  and  wait  for  sun- 
shine. Soon  stones  (the  first,  it  is  said,  cast  by  a 
woman)  darkened  the  air.  The  farmers  got  the 
word  to  charge,  but  their  horses,  with  the  best  in- 
tentions, did  not  know  the  way.  There  was  a 
stampeding  in  different  directions,  a  blind  rushing 
of  one  frightened  steed  against  another ;  and  then 
the  townspeople,  breaking  any  ranks  they  had 
hitherto  managed  to  keep,  rushed  vindictively  for- 
ward. The  struggle  at  Cabbylatch  itself  was  not 
of  long  duration ;  for  their  own  horses  proved  the 
farmers'  worst  enemies,  except  in  the  cases  where 
these  sagacious  animals  took  matters  into  their 
own  ordering  and  bolted  judiciously  for  their 
stables.     The  day  was  to  Thrums. 

Individual  deeds  of  prowess  were  done  that  day. 
Of  these  not  the  least  fondly  remembered  by  her 
descendants  were  those  of  the  gallant  matron  who 
pursued  the  most  obnoxious  farmer  in  the  district 
even  to  his  very  porch  with  heavy  stones  and  op- 
probrious epithets.  Once  when  he  thought  he  had 
left  her  far  behind  did  he  alight  to  draw  breath 
and  take  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  she  was  upon  him 
like  a  flail.     With  a  terror-stricken  cry  he  leapt 

97 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

once  more  upon  his  horse  and  fled,  but  not  with- 
out leaving  his  snufF-box  in  the  hands  of  the  de- 
risive enemy.  Meggy  has  long  gone  to  the  kirk- 
yard,  but  the  snufF-muU  is  still  preserved. 

Some  ugly  cuts  were  given  and  received,  and 
heads  as  well  as  ribs  were  broken ;  but  the  towns- 
men's triumph  was  short-lived.  The  ringleaders 
were  whipped  through  the  streets  of  Perth,  as  a 
warning  to  persons  thinking  of  taking  the  law  into 
their  own  hands ;  and  all  the  lasting  consolation 
they  got  was  that,  some  time  afterwards,  the  chief 
witness  against  them,  the  parish  minister,  met  with 
a  mysterious  death.  They  said  it  was  evidently 
the  hand  of  God;  but  some  people  looked  sus- 
piciously at  them  when  they  said  it. 


98 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE    OLD   DOMINIE 

From  the  new  cemetery,  which  is  the  highest  point 
in  Thrums,  you  just  fail  to  catch  sight  ot  the  red 
schoolhouse  that  nestles  between  two  bare  trees, 
some  five  miles  up  the  glen  of  Quharity.  This 
was  proved  by  Davit  Lunan,  tinsmith,  whom  I 
have  heard  tell  the  story.  It  was  in  the  time  when 
the  cemetery  gates  were  locked  to  keep  the  bodies 
of  suicides  out,  but  men  who  cared  to  risk  the  con- 
sequences could  get  the  coffin  over  the  high  dyke 
and  bury  it  themselves.  Peter  Lundy's  coffin 
broke,  as  one  might  say,  into  the  churchyard  in 
this  way,  Peter  having  hanged  himself  in  the 
Whunny  wood  when  he  saw  that  work  he  must. 
The  general  feeling  among  the  intimates  of  the 
deceased  was  expressed  by  Davit  when  he  said : 

"  It  may  do  the  crittur  nae  guid  i'  the  tail  o'  the 
day,  but  he  paid  for's  bit  o'  ground,  an'  he's  in's 
richt  to  occupy  it." 

The  custom  was  to  push  the  coffin  on  to  the  wall 
up  a  plank,  and  then  let  it  drop  less  carefully  into 
the  cemetery.     Some  of  the  mourners  were  drag- 

99 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

ging  the  plank  over  the  wall,  with  Davit  Lunan  on 
the  top  directing  them,  when  they  seem  to  have 
let  go  and  sent  the  tinsmith  suddenly  into  the  air. 
A  week  afterwards  it  struck  Davit,  when  in  the 
act  of  soldering  a  hole  in  Leeby  Wheens's  flagon 
(here  he  branched  off  to  explain  that  he  had  made 
the  flagon  years  before,  and  that  Leeby  was  sister 
to  Tammas  Wheens,  and  married  one  Baker  Rob- 
bie, who  died  of  chicken-pox  in  his  forty-fourth 
year),  that  when  "  up  there  "  he  had  a  view  of 
Quharity  schoolhouse.  Davit  was  as  truthful  as 
a  man  who  tells  the  same  story  more  than  once 
can  be  expected  to  be,  and  it  is  far  from  a  sus- 
picious circumstance  that  he  did  not  remember 
seeing  the  schoolhouse  all  at  once.  In  Thrums 
things  only  struck  them  gradually.  The  new 
cemetery,  for  instance,  was  only  so  called  because 
it  had  been  new  once. 

In  this  red  stone  school,  full  of  the  modern  im- 
provements that  he  detested,  the  old  dominie  whom 
I  succeeded  taught,  and  sometimes  slept,  during 
the  last  five  years  of  his  cantankerous  life.  It  was 
in  a  little  thatched  school,  consisting  of  but  one 
room,  that  he  did  his  best  work,  some  five  hun- 
dred yards  away  from  the  edifice  that  was  reared 
in  its  stead.  Now  dismally  fallen  into  disrepute, 
often  indeed  a  domicile  for  cattle,  the  ragged  acad- 
emy of  Glen  Ouharity,  where  he  held  despotic 
sway  for  nearly  half  a  century,  is  falling  to  pieces 

lOO 


THE   OLD   DOMINIE 

slowly  in  a  howe  that  conceals  it  from  the  high 
road.  Even  in  its  best  scholastic  days,  when  it 
sent  barefooted  lads  to  college  who  helped  to 
hasten  the  Disruption,  it  was  but  a  pile  of  ungainly 
stones,  such  as  Scott's  Black  Dwarf  flung  together 
in  a  night,  with  holes  in  its  broken  roof  of  thatch 
where  the  rain  trickled  through,  and  never  with 
less  than  two  of  its  knotted  little  window-panes 
stopped  with  brown  paper.  The  twelve  or  twenty 
pupils  of  both  sexes  who  constituted  the  attendance 
sat  at  the  two  loose  desks,  which  never  fell  unless 
you  leaned  on  them,  with  an  eye  on  the  corner  of 
the  earthen  floor  where  the  worms  came  out,  and 
on  cold  days  they  liked  the  wind  to  turn  the  peat 
smoke  into  the  room.  One  boy,  who  was  sup- 
posed to  wash  it  out,  got  his  education  free  for 
keeping  the  schoolhouse  dirty,  and  the  others  paid 
their  way  with  peats,  which  they  brought  in  their 
hands,  just  as  wealthier  school-children  carry  books, 
and  with  pence  which  the  dominie  collected  regu- 
larly every  Monday  morning.  The  attendance  on 
Monday  mornings  was  often  small. 

Once  a  year  the  dominie  added  to  his  income 
by  holding  cockfights  in  the  old  school.  This 
was  at  Yule,  and  the  same  practice  held  in  the 
parish  school  of  Thrums.  It  must  have  been  a 
strange  sight.  Every  male  scholar  was  expected 
to  bring  a  cock  to  the  school,  and  to  pay  a  shilling 
to  the  dominie  for  the  privilege  of  seeing  it  killed 

lOl 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

there.  The  dominie  was  the  master  of  the  sports, 
assisted  by  the  neighbouring  farmers,  some  of 
whom  might  be  elders  of  the  church.  Three 
rounds  were  fought.  By  the  end  of  the  first 
round  all  the  cocks  had  fought,  and  the  victors 
were  then  pitted  against  each  other.  The  cocks 
that  survived  the  second  round  were  eligible  for 
the  third,  and  the  dominie,  besides  his  shilling, 
got  every  cock  killed.  Sometimes,  if  all  stories 
be  true,  the  spectators  were  fighting  with  each 
other  before  the  third  round  concluded. 

The  glen  was  but  sparsely  dotted  with  houses 
even  in  those  days ;  a  number  of  them  inhabited 
by  farmer-weavers,  who  combined  two  trades  and 
just  managed  to  live.  One  would  have  a  plough, 
another  a  horse,  and  so  in  Glen  Quharity  they 
helped  each  other.  Without  a  loom  in  addition 
many  of  them  would  have  starved,  and  on  Satur- 
days the  big  farmer  and  his  wife,  driving  home  in 
a  gig,  would  pass  the  little  farmer  carrying  or 
wheeling  his  wob  to  Thrums.  When  there  was 
no  longer  a  market  for  the  produce  of  the  hand- 
loom  these  farms  had  to  be  given  up,  and  thus  it 
is  that  the  old  school  is  not  the  only  house  in  our 
weary  glen  around  which  gooseberry  and  currant 
bushes,  once  tended  by  careful  hands,  now  grow 
wild. 

In  heavy  spates  the  children  were  conveyed  to 
the  old  school,  as  they  are  still  to  the  new  one,  in 

102 


THE   OLD   DOMINIE 

carts,  and  between  it  and  the  dominie's  white- 
washed dweUing-house  swirled  in  winter  a  torrent 
of  water  that  often  carried  lumps  of  the  land  along 
with  it.  This  burn  he  had  at  times  to  ford  on 
stilts. 

Before  the  Education  Act  passed  the  dominie 
was  not  much  troubled  by  the  school  inspector, 
who  appeared  in  great  splendour    every  year  at 
Thrums.       Fifteen    years     ago,    however,    Glen 
Quharity  resolved  itself  into  a  School  Board,  and 
marched  down  the  glen,  with  the  minister  at  its 
head,  to  condemn  the  school.    When  the  dominie, 
who  had  heard  of  their  design,  saw  the  Board  ap- 
proaching, he  sent  one  of  his  scholars,  who  enjoyed 
making  a  mess  of  himself,  wading  across  the  burn 
to  bring  over  the  stilts  which  were  lying  on  the 
other  side.     The  Board  were  thus  unable  to  send 
across  a  spokesman,  and  after  they  had  harangued 
the  dominie,  who  was  in  the  best  of  tempers,  from 
the  wrong  side  of  the  stream,  the  siege  was  raised 
by  their  returning  home,  this  time  with  the  minis- 
ter in  the  rear.     So  far  as  is  known  this  was  the 
only  occasion  on  which  the  dominie  ever  lifted  his 
hat  to    the    minister.     He   was    the    Established 
Church  minister  at  the  top  of  the  glen,  but  the  do- 
minie was  an  Auld  Licht,  and  trudged  into  Thrums 
to  church  nearly  every  Sunday  with  his  daughter. 
The  farm  of  Little  Tilly  lay  so  close  to  the  domi- 
nie's house  that  from  one  window  he  could  see 

103 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

through  a  telescope  whether  the  farmer  was  going 
to  church,  owing  to  Little  Tilly's  habit  of  never 
shaving  except  with  that  intention,  and  of  always 
doing  it  at  a  looking-glass  which  he  hung  on  a  nail 
in  his  door.  The  farmer  was  Established  Church, 
and  when  the  dominie  saw  him  in  his  shirt-sleeves 
with  a  razor  in  his  hand,  he  called  for  his  black 
clothes.  If  he  did  not  see  him  it  is  undeniable 
that  the  dominie  sent  his  daughter  to  Thrums,  but 
remained  at  home  himself  Possibly,  therefore, 
the  dominie  sometimes  went  to  church,  because 
he  did  not  want  to  give  Little  Tilly  and  the  Es- 
tablished minister  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that 
he  was  not  devout  to-day,  and  it  is  even  conceiv- 
able that  had  Little  Tilly  had  a  telescope  and  an 
intellect  as  well  as  his  neighbour,  he  would  have 
spied  on  the  dominie  in  return.  He  sent  the 
teacher  a  load  of  potatoes  every  year,  and  the  re- 
cipient rated  him  soundly  if  they  did  not  turn  out 
as  well  as  the  ones  he  had  got  the  autumn  before. 
Little  Tilly  was  rather  in  awe  of  the  dominie,  and 
had  an  idea  that  he  was  a  Freethinker,  because  he 
played  the  fiddle  and  wore  a  black  cap. 

The  dominie  was  a  wizened-looking  little  man, 
with  sharp  eyes  that  pierced  you  when  they  thought 
they  were  unobserved,  and  if  any  visitor  drew  near 
who  might  be  a  member  of  the  Board,  he  disap- 
peared into  his  house  much  as  a  startled  weasel 
makes  for  its  hole.    The  most  striking  thing  about 

104 


THE   OLD   DOMINIE 

him  was  his  walk,  which  to  the  casual  observer 
seemed  a  limp.     The  glen  in  our  part  is  marshy, 
and  to  progress  along  it  you  have  to  jump  from 
one  little  island  of  grass  or  heather  to   another. 
Perhaps  it  was  this  that  made  the  dominie  take 
the  main  road  and  even  the  streets  of  Thrums  in 
leaps,  as  if  there  were  boulders  or  puddles  in  the 
way.     It  is,  however,  currently  believed    among 
those  who  knew  him  best  that  he  jerked  himself 
along  in  that  way  when  he  applied  for  the  vacancy 
in  Glen  Ouharity  school,  and  that  he  was  therefore 
chosen  from  among  the   candidates  by  the  com- 
mittee of  farmers,  who  saw  that  he  was  specially 
constructed  for  the  district. 

In  the  spring  the  inspector  was  sent  to  report 
on  the  school,  and,  of  course,  he  said,  with  a  wave 
of  his  hand,  that  this  would  never  do.  So  a  new 
school  was  built,  and  the  ramshackle  little  acad- 
emy that  had  done  good  service  in  its  day  was 
closed  for  the  last  time.  For  years  it  had  been 
without  a  lock ;  ever  since  a  blatter  of  wind  and 
rain  drove  the  door  against  the  fireplace.  After 
that  it  was  the  dominie's  custom,  on  seeing  the 
room  cleared,  to  send  in  a  smart  boy  —  a  dux  was 
always  chosen  —  who  wedged  a  clod  of  earth  or 
peat  between  doorpost  and  door.  Thus  the  school 
was  locked  up  for  the  night.  The  boy  came  out 
by  the  window,  where  he  entered  to  open  the  door 
next  morning.     In  time  grass  hid  the  little  path 

105 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

from  view  that  led  to  the  old  school,  and  a  dozen 
years  ago  every  particle  of  wood  about  the  build- 
ing, including  the  door  and  the  framework  of  the 
windows,  had  been  burned  by  travelling  tinkers. 

The  Board  would  have  liked  to  leave  the  do- 
minie in  his  white-washed  dwelling-house  to  en- 
joy his  old  age  comfortably,  and  until  he  learned 
that  he  had  intended  to  retire.  Then  he  changed 
his  tactics  and  removed  his  beard.  Instead  of  rail- 
ing at  the  new  school,  he  began  to  approve  of  it, 
and  it  soon  came  to  the  ears  of  the  horrified  Estab- 
lished minister,  who  had  a  man  (Established)  in 
his  eye  for  the  appointment,  that  the  dominie  was 
looking  ten  years  younger.  As  he  spurned  a  pen- 
sion he  had  to  get  the  place,  and  then  began  a 
warfare  of  bickerings  between  the  Board  and  him 
that  lasted  until  within  a  few  weeks  of  his  death. 
In  his  scholastic  barn  the  dominie  had  thumped 
the  Latin  grammar  into  his  scholars  till  they  be- 
came university  bursars  to  escape  him.  In  the  new 
school,  with  maps  (which  he  hid  in  the  hen-house) 
and  every  other  modern  appliance  for  making 
teaching  easy,  he  was  the  scandal  of  the  glen.  He 
snapped  at  the  clerk  of  the  Board's  throat,  and 
barred  his  door  in  the  minister's  face.  It  was  one 
of  his  favourite  relaxations  to  peregrinate  the  dis- 
trict, telling  the  farmers  who  were  not  on  the  Board 
themselves,  but  were  given  to  gossiping  with  those 
who  were,  that  though  he  could  slumber  pleasantly 

106 


THE   OLD   DOMINIE 

in  the  school  so  long  as  the  hum  of  the  standards 
was  kept  up,  he  immediately  woke  if  it  ceased. 

Having  settled  himself  in  his  new  quarters,  the 
dominie  seems  to  have  read  over  the  code,  and 
come  at  once  to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be 
idle  to  think  of  straightforwardly  fulfilling  its  re- 
quirements. The  inspector  he  regarded  as  a  natural 
enemy,  who  was  to  be  circumvented  by  much 
guile.  One  year  that  admirable  Oxford  don  ar- 
rived at  the  school,  to  find  that  all  the  children, 
except  two  girls  —  one  of  whom  had  her  face  tied 
up  with  red  flannel  —  were  away  for  the  harvest. 
On  another  occasion  the  dominie  met  the  inspect- 
or's trap  some  distance  from  the  school,  and  ex- 
plained that  he  would  guide  him  by  a  short  cut, 
leaving  the  driver  to  take  the  dog-cart  to  a  farm 
where  it  could  be  put  up.  The  unsuspecting  in- 
spector agreed,  and  they  set  off,  the  obsequious 
dominie  carrying  his  bag.  He  led  his  victim  into 
another  glen,  the  hills  round  which  had  hidden 
their  heads  in  mist,  and  then  slyly  remarked  that 
he  was  afraid  they  had  lost  their  way.  The  min- 
ister, who  liked  to  attend  the  examination,  reproved 
the  dominie  for  providing  no  luncheon,  but  turned 
pale  when  his  enemy  suggested  that  he  should 
examine  the  boys  in  Latin. 

For  some  reason  that  I  could  never  discover,  the 
dominie  had  all  his  life  refused  to  teach  his  scholars 
geography.     The  inspector  and  many  others  asked 

107 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

him  why  there  was  no  geography  class,  and  his  in- 
variable answer  was  to  point  to  his  pupils  collect- 
ively, and  reply  in  an  impressive  whisper  — 

"  They  winna  hae  her." 

This  story,  too,  seems  to  reflect  against  the 
dominie's  views  on  cleanliness.  One  examination 
day  the  minister  attended  to  open  the  inspection 
with  prayer.  Just  as  he  was  finishing,  a  scholar 
entered  who  had  a  reputation  for  dirt. 

"  Michty  I "  cried  a  little  pupil,  as  his  opening 
eyes  fell  on  the  apparition  at  the  door,  "there's 
Jocky  Tamson  wi'  his  face  washed  I " 

When  the  dominie  was  a  younger  man  he  had 
first  clashed  with  the  minister  during  Mr.  Rattray's 
attempts  to  do  away  with  some  old  customs  that 
were  already  dying  by  inches.  One  was  the  selec- 
tion of  a  queen  of  beauty  from  among  the  young 
women  at  the  annual  Thrums  fair.  The  judges, 
who  were  selected  from  the  better-known  farmers 
as  a  rule,  sat  at  the  door  of  a  tent  that  recked  of 
whisky,  and  regarded  the  competitors  filing  by 
much  as  they  selected  prize  sheep,  with  a  stolid 
stare.  There  was  much  giggling  and  blushing  on 
these  occasions  among  the  maidens,  and  shouts 
from  their  relatives  and  friends  to  "  Haud  yer  head 
up,  Jean,"  and  "  Lat  them  see  yer  een,  Jess." 
The  dominie  enjoyed  this,  and  was  one  time  chosen 
a  judge,  when  he  insisted  on  the  prize's  being  be* 
stowed  on  his  own  daughter,  Marget.     The  other 

108 


THE   OLD   DOMINIE 

judges  demurred,  but  the  dominie  remained  firm 
and  won  the  day. 

''  She  wasna  the  best-faured  amon  them,"  he  ad- 
mitted afterwards,  "  but  a  man  maun  mak  the 
maist  o'  his  ain." 

The  dominie,  too,  would  not  shake  his  head 
with  Mr.  Rattray  over  the  apple  and  loaf  bread 
raffles  in  the  smithy,  nor  even  at  the  Daft  Days, 
the  black  week  of  glum  debauch  that  ushered  in 
the  year,  a  period  when  the  whole  countryside 
rumbled  to  the  farmer's  "kebec  "-laden  cart. 

For  the  great  part  of  his  career  the  dominie  had 
not  made  forty  pounds  a  year,  but  he  "  died 
worth  "  about  three  hundred  pounds.  The  moral 
of  his  life  came  in  just  as  he  was  leaving  it,  for  he 
rose  from  his  deathbed  to  hide  a  whisky  bottle 
from  his  wife. 


109 


CHAPTER   VII 

CREE  QUEERY  AND  MYSY  DROLLY 

The  children  used  to  fling  stones  at  Grinder 
Queery  because  he  loved  his  mother.  I  never 
heard  the  Grinder's  real  name.  He  and  his  mo- 
ther were  Queery  and  Drolly,  contemptuously  so 
called,  and  they  answered  to  these  names.  I  re- 
member Cree  best  as  a  battered  old  weaver,  who 
bent  forward  as  he  walked,  with  his  arms  hanging 
limp  as  if  ready  to  grasp  the  shafts  of  the  barrow 
behind  which  it  was  his  life  to  totter  uphill  and 
downhill,  a  rope  of  yarn  suspended  round  his 
shaking  neck,  and  fastened  to  the  shafts,  assisting 
him  to  bear  the  yoke  and  slowly  strangling  him. 
By  and  by  there  came  a  time  when  the  barrow 
and  the  weaver  seemed  both  palsy-stricken,  and 
Cree,  gasping  for  breath,  would  stop  in  the  middle 
of  a  brae,  unable  to  push  his  load  over  a  stone. 
Then  he  laid  himself  down  behind  it  to  prevent 
the  barrow's  slipping  back.  On  those  occasions 
only  the  barefooted  boys  who  jeered  at  the  pant- 
ing weaver  could  put  new  strength  into  his  shriv- 
elled arms.     They  did  it  by  telling  him  that  he 

no 


CREE  OUEERY  AND  MYSY  DROLLY 

and  Mysy  would  have  to  go  to  the  "  poorshouse  " 
after  all,  at  which  the  grey  old  man  would  wince, 
as  if  "joukin"  from  a  blow,  and,  shuddering,  rise 
and,  with  a  desperate  effort,  gain  the  top  of  the  in- 
cline. Small  blame  perhaps  attached  to  Cree  if, 
as  he  neared  his  grave,  he  grew  a  little  dottle. 
His  loads  of  yarn  frequently  took  him  past  the 
workhouse,  and  his  eyelids  quivered  as  he  drew 
near.  Boys  used  to  gather  round  the  gate  in  an- 
ticipation of  his  coming,  and  make  a  feint  of  driv- 
ing him  inside.  Cree,  when  he  observed  them,  sat 
down  on  his  barrow-shafts  terrified  to  approach, 
and  I  see  them  now  pointing  to  the  workhouse  till 
he  left  his  barrow  on  the  road  and  hobbled  away, 
his  legs  cracking  as  he  ran. 

It  is  strange  to  know  that  there  was  once  a  time 
when  Cree  was  young  and  straight,  a  callant  who 
wore  a  flower  in  his  buttonhole,  and  tried  to  be  a 
hero  for  a  maiden's  sake. 

Before  Cree  settled  down  as  a  weaver,  he  was 
knife  and  scissor-grinder  for  three  counties,  and 
Mysy,  his  mother,  accompanied  him  wherever  he 
went.  Mysy  trudged  alongside  him  till  her  eyes 
grew  dim  and  her  limbs  failed  her,  and  then  Cree 
was  told  that  she  must  be  sent  to  the  pauper's  home. 
After  that  a  pitiable  and  beautiful  sight  was  to  be 
seen.  Grinder  Oueery,  already  a  feeble  man,  would 
wheel  his  grindstone  along  the  long  high  road,  leav- 
ing Mysy  behind.    He  took  the  stone  on  a  few  hun- 

1 1 1 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

dred  yards,  and  then,  hiding  it  by  the  roadside  in 
a  ditch  or  behind  a  paHng,  returned  for  his  mother. 
Her  he  led  —  sometimes  he  almost  carried  her  — 
to  the  place  where  the  grindstone  lay,  and  thus  by 
double  journeys  kept  her  with  him.  Every  one 
said  that  Mysy's  death  would  be  a  merciful  release 
—  every  one  but  Cree. 

Cree  had  been  a  grinder  from  his  youth,  having 
learned  the  trade  from  his  father,  but  he  gave  it 
up  when  Mysy  became  almost  blind.  For  a  time 
he  had  to  leave  her  in  Thrums  with  Dan'l  Wilkie's 
wife,  and  find  employment  himself  in  Tilliedrum. 
Mysy  got  me  to  write  several  letters  for  her  to  Cree, 
and  she  cried  while  telling  me  what  to  say.  I  never 
heard  either  of  them  use  a  term  of  endearment  to 
the  other,  but  all  Mysy  could  tell  me  to  put  in  writ- 
ing was  — "  Oh,  my  son  Cree ;  oh,  my  beloved 
son ;  oh,  I  have  no  one  but  you ;  oh,  thou  God 
watch  over  my  Cree  I  "  On  one  of  these  occasions 
Mysy  put  into  my  hands  a  paper,  which,  she  said, 
would  perhaps  help  me  to  write  the  letter.  It  had 
been  drawn  up  by  Cree  many  years  before,  when 
he  and  his  mother  had  been  compelled  to  part  for 
a  time,  and  I  saw  from  it  that  he  had  been  trying 
to  teach  Mysy  to  write.  The  paper  consisted  of 
phrases  such  as  "  Dear  son  Cree,"  "  Loving  moth- 
er," ''  I  am  takin'  my  food  weel,"  "  Yesterday," 
"  Blankets,"  "  The  peats  is  near  done,"  "  Mr.  Dis- 
hart,"  "  Come  home,  Cree."    The  Grinder  had  left 

112 


CREE  OUEERY  AND  MYSY  DROLLY 

this  paper  with  his  mother,  and  she  had  written 
letters  to  him  from  it. 

When  Dan'l  Wilkie  objected  to  keeping  a 
cranky  old  body  Hke  Mysy  in  his  house  Cree 
came  back  to  Thrums  and  took  a  single  room 
with  a  hand-loom  in  it.  The  flooring  was  only 
lumpy  earth,  with  sacks  spread  over  it  to  protect 
Mysy's  feet.  The  room  contained  two  dilapidated 
old  coffin-beds,  a  dresser,  a  high-backed  arm-chair, 
several  three-legged  stools,  and  two  tables,  ot 
which  one  could  be  packed  away  beneath  the 
other.  In  one  corner  stood  the  wheel  at  which 
Cree  had  to  fill  his  own  pirns.  There  was  a  plate- 
rack  on  one  wall,  and  near  the  chimney-piece 
hung  the  wag-at-the-wall  clock,  the  timepiece  that 
was  commonest  in  Thrums  at  that  time,  and  that 
got  this  name  because  its  exposed  pendulum 
swung  along  the  wall.  The  two  windows  in  the 
room  faced  each  other  on  opposite  walls,  and 
were  so  small  that  even  a  child  might  have  stuck 
in  trying  to  crawl  through  them.  They  opened 
on  hinges,-  like  a  door.  In  the  wall  of  the  dark 
passage  leading  from  the  outer  door  into  the  room 
was  a  recess  where  a  pan  and  pitcher  of  water  al- 
ways stood  wedded,  as  it  were,  and  a  little  hole, 
known  as  the  "  bole,"  in  the  wall  opposite  the  fire- 
place contained  Cree's  library.  It  consisted  ol 
Baxter's  ''  Saints'  Rest,"  Harvey's  ''  Meditations," 
the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  a  work  on  folk-lore,  and 

113 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

several  Bibles.  The  saut-backet,  or  salt-bucket, 
stood  at  the  end  of  the  fender,  which  was  half  of 
an  old  cart-wheel.  Here  Cree  worked,  whistling 
"  Ower  the  watter  for  Chairlie "  to  make  Mysy 
think  that  he  was  as  gay  as  a  mavis.  Mysy  grew 
querulous  in  her  old  age,  and  up  to  the  end  she 
thought  of  poor,  done  Cree  as  a  handsome  gallant. 
Only  by  weaving  far  on  into  the  night  could  Cree 
earn  as  much  as  six  shillings  a  week.  He  began 
at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  worked  until 
midnight  by  the  light  of  his  cruizey.  The  cruizey 
was  all  the  lamp  Thrums  had  in  those  days, 
though  it  is  only  to  be  seen  in  use  now  in  a  few 
old-world  houses  in  the  glens.  It  is  an  ungainly 
thing  in  iron,  the  size  of  a  man's  palm,  and  shaped 
not  unlike  the  palm  when  contracted,  and  deep- 
ened to  hold  a  liquid.  Whale-oil,  lying  open  in 
the  mould,  was  used,  and  the  wick  was  a  rash 
with  the  green  skin  peeled  off.  These  rashes 
were  sold  by  herd-boys  at  a  halfpenny  the  bundle, 
but  Cree  gathered  his  own  wicks.  The  rashes 
skin  readily  when  you  know  how  to  do  it.  The 
iron  mould  was  placed  inside  another  of  the  same 
shape,  but  slightly  larger,  for  in  time  the  oil 
dripped  through  the  iron,  and  the  whole  was  then 
hung  by  a  cleek  or  hook  close  to  the  person  using 
it.  Even  with  three  wicks  it  gave  but  a  stime  of 
light,  and  never  allowed  the  weaver  to  see  more 
than  the  half  of  his  loom  at  a  time.     Sometimes 

114 


CREE   OUEERY   AND   MYSY   DROLLY 

Cree  used  threads  for  wicks.  He  was  too  dull  a 
man  to  have  many  visitors,  but  Mr.  Dishart  called 
occasionally  and  reproved  him  for  telling  his  mother 
lies.  The  lies  Cree  told  Mysy  were  that  he  was 
sharing  the  meals  he  won  for  her,  and  that  he 
wore  the  overcoat  which  he  had  exchanged  years 
before  for  a  blanket  to  keep  her  warm. 

There  was  a  terrible  want  of  spirit  about  Grind- 
er Oueery.  Boys  used  to  climb  on  to  his  stone 
roof  with  clods  of  damp  earth  in  their  hands, 
which  they  dropped  down  the  chimney.  Mysy 
was  bed-ridden  by  this  time,  and  the  smoke 
threatened  to  choke  her ;  so  Cree,  instead  of  chas- 
ing his  persecutors,  bargained  with  them.  He 
gave  them  fly-hooks  which  he  had  busked  him- 
self, and  when  he  had  nothing  left  to  give  he  tried 
to  flatter  them  into  dealing  gently  with  Mysy  by 
talking  to  them  as  men.  One  night  it  went 
through  the  town  that  Mysy  now  lay  in  bed  all 
day  listening  for  her  summons  to  depart.  Accor- 
ding to  her  ideas  this  would  come  in  the  form  of 
a  tapping  at  the  window,  and  their  intention  was 
to  forestall  the  spirit.  Dite  Gow's  boy,  who  is 
now  a  grown  man,  was  hoisted  up  to  one  of  the 
little  windows,  and  he  has  always  thought  of  Mysy 
since  as  he  saw  her  then  for  the  last  time.  She  lay 
sleeping,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  and  Cree  sat  by 
the  fireside  looking  at  her. 

Every  one  knew  that  there  was  seldom  a  fire  in 

115 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

that  house  unless  Mysy  was  cold.  Cree  seemed 
to  think  that  the  fire  was  getting  low.  In  the  lit- 
tle closet,  which,  with  the  kitchen,  made  up  his 
house,  was  a  corner  shut  off  from  the  rest  of  the 
room  by  a  few  boards,  and  behind  this  he  kept  his 
peats.  There  was  a  similar  receptacle  for  potatoes 
in  the  kitchen.  Cree  wanted  to  get  another  peat 
for  the  fire  without  disturbing  Mysy.  First  he 
took  off  his  boots,  and  made  for  the  peats  on  tip- 
toe. His  shadow  was  cast  on  the  bed,  however,  so 
he  next  got  down  on  his  knees  and  crawled  softly 
into  the  closet.  With  the  peat  in  his  hands,  he 
returned  in  the  same  way,  glancing  every  moment 
at  the  bed  where  Mysy  lay.  Though  Tammy 
Gow's  face  was  pressed  against  a  broken  window 
he  did  not  hear  Cree  putting  that  peat  on  the  fire. 
Some  say  that  Mysy  heard,  but  pretended  not  to 
do  so  for  her  son's  sake,  that  she  realized  the  de- 
ception he  played  on  her,  and  had  not  the  heart  to 
undeceive  him.  But  it  would  be  too  sad  to  be- 
lieve that.     The  boys  left  Cree  alone  that  night. 

The  old  weaver  lived  on  alone  in  that  solitary 
house  after  Mysy  left  him,  and  by  and  by  the 
story  went  abroad  that  he  was  saving  money.  At 
first  no  one  believed  this  except  the  man  who  told 
it,  but  there  seemed  after  all  to  be  something  in  it. 
You  had  only  to  hit  Cree's  trouser  pocket  to  hear 
the  money  chinking,  for  he  was  afraid  to  let  it  out 
of  his  clutch.     Those  who  sat  on  dykes  with  him 

116 


CREE   OUEERY   AND   MYSY   DROLLY 

when  his  day's  labour  was  over  said  that  the 
weaver  kept  his  hand  all  the  time  in  his  pocket, 
and  that  they  saw  his  lips  move  as  he  counted  his 
hoard  by  letting  it  slip  through  his  fingers.  So 
there  were  boys  who  called  "  Miser  Queery  "  after 
him  instead  of  Grinder,  and  asked  him  whether  he 
was  saving  up  to  keep  himself  from  the  work- 
house. 

But  we  had  all  done  Cree  wrong.  It  came  out 
on  his  deathbed  what  he  had  been  storing  up  his 
money  for.  Grinder,  according  to  the  doctor,  died 
of  getting  a  good  meal  from  a  friend  of  his  earlier 
days  after  being  accustomed  to  starve  on  potatoes 
and  a  very  little  oatmeal  indeed.  The  day  before 
he  died  this  friend  sent  him  half  a  sovereign,  and 
when  Grinder  saw  it  he  sat  up  excitedly  in  his 
bed  and  pulled  his  corduroys  from  beneath  his 
pillow.  The  woman  who,  out  of  kindness,  at- 
tended him  in  his  last  illness,  looked  on  curiously, 
while  Cree  added  the  sixpences  and  coppers  in  his 
pocket  to  the  half-sovereign.  After  all  they  only 
made  some  two  pounds,  but  a  look  of  peace  came 
into  Cree's  eyes  as  he  told  the  woman  to  take  it 
all  to  a  shop  in  the  town.  Nearly  twelve  years 
previously  Jamie  Lownie  had  lent  him  two 
pounds,  and  though  the  money  was  never  asked 
for,  it  preyed  on  Cree's  mind  that  he  was  in  debt. 
He  payed  off  all  he  owed,  and  so  Cree's  life  was 
not,  I  think,  a  failure. 

117 


CHAPTER  Vni 

THE   COURTING    OF   T'NOWHEAD'S    BELL 

For  two  years  it  had  been  notorious  in  the  square 
that  Sam'l  Dickie  was  thinking  of  courting  T'now- 
head's  Bell,  and  that  if  little  Sanders  Elshioner 
(which  is  the  Thrums  pronunciation  of  Alexander 
Alexander)  went  in  for  her  he  might  prove  a  for- 
midable rival.  Sam'l  was  a  weaver  in  the  Tene- 
ments, and  Sanders  a  coal-carter  whose  trade  mark 
was  a  bell  on  his  horse's  neck  that  told  when  coals 
were  coming.  Being  something  of  a  public  man, 
Sanders  had  not  perhaps  so  high  a  social  position 
as  Sam'l,  but  he  had  succeeded  his  father  on  the 
coal-cart,  while  the  weaver  had  already  tried  sev- 
eral trades.  It  had  always  been  against  Sam'l,  too, 
that  once  when  the  kirk  was  vacant  he  had  advised 
the  selection  of  the  third  minister  who  preached 
for  it  on  the  ground  that  it  came  expensive  to  pay 
a  large  number  of  candidates.  The  scandal  ot  the 
thing  was  hushed  up,  out  of  respect  for  his  father, 
who  was  a  God-fearing  man,  but  Sam'l  was  known 
by  it  in  Lang  Tammas's  circle.  The  coal-carter  was 
called  Little  Sanders  to  distinguish  him  from  his 

118 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S    BELL 

father,  who  was  not  much  more  than  half  his  size. 
He  had  grown  up  with  the  name,  and  its  inappli- 
cabiHty  now  came  home  to  nobody.  Sam'l's  mother 
had  been  more  far-seeing  than  Sanders's.  Her  man 
had  been  called  Sammy  all  his  life  because  it  was 
the  name  he  got  as  a  boy,  so  when  their  eldest  son 
was  born  she  spoke  of  him  as  Sam'l  while  still  in 
his  cradle.  The  neighbours  imitated  her,  and  thus 
the  young  man  had  a  better  start  in  life  than  had 
been  granted  to  Sammy,  his  father. 

It  was  Saturday  evening  —  the  night  in  the 
week  when  Auld  Licht  young  men  fell  in  love. 
Sam'l  Dickie,  wearing  a  blue  glengarry  bonnet 
with  a  red  ball  on  the  top,  came  to  the  door  of  a 
one-storey  house  in  the  Tenements  and  stood  there 
wriggling,  for  he  was  in  a  suit  of  tweed  for  the  first 
time  that  week,  and  did  not  feel  at  one  with  them. 
When  his  feeling  of  being  a  stranger  to  himself 
wore  off  he  looked  up  and  down  the  road,  which 
straggles  between  houses  and  gardens,  and  then, 
picking  his  w^ay  over  the  puddles,  crossed  to  his 
father's  hen-house  and  sat  down  on  it.  He  was  now 
on  his  way  to  the  square. 

Eppie  Fargus  was  sitting  on  an  adjoining  dyke 
knitting  stockings,  and  Sam'l  looked  at  her  for  a 
time. 

"  Is't  yersel,  Eppie  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  It's  a'  that,"  said  Eppie. 

"  Hoo's  a'  wi'  ye "?  "  asked  Sam'l. 
119 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

"  We're  juist  afF  an'  on,"  replied  Eppie,  cau- 
tiously. 

There  was  not  much  more  to  say,  but  as  Sam'l 
sidled  off  the  henhouse  he  murmured  politely,  "Ay, 
ay."  In  another  minute  he  would  have  been  fairly 
started,  but  Eppie  resumed  the  conversation. 

"Sam'l,"  she  said,  with  a  twinkle  in  her  eye, 
"ye  can  tell  Lisbeth  Fargus  I'll  likely  be  drappin' 
in  on  her  aboot  Mununday  or  Teisday.'- 

Lisbeth  was  sister  to  Eppie,  and  wife  of  Tammas 
McOuhatty,  better  known  as  T'nowhead,  which 
was  the  name  of  his  farm.  She  was  thus  Bell's 
mistress. 

Sam'l  leant  against  the  henhouse  as  if  all  his  de- 
sire to  depart  had  gone. 

"  Hoo  d'ye  kin  I'll  be  at  the  T'nowhead  the 
nicht  'I "  he  asked,  grinning  in  anticipation. 

"  Ou,  I'se  warrant  ye'll  be  after  Bell,"  said  Eppie. 

"Am  no  sae  sure  o'  that,"  said  Sam'l,  trying  to 
leer.     He  was  enjoying  himself  now. 

"Am  no  sure  o'  that,"  he  repeated,  for  Eppie 
seemed  lost  in  stitches. 

"Sam'l?" 

"Ay." 

"  Ye'll  be  speirin'  her  sune  noo,  I  dinna  doot  ?  '^ 

This  took  Sam'l,  who  had  only  been  courting 
Bell  for  a  year  or  two,  a  little  aback. 

"  Hoo  d'ye  mean,  Eppie  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Maybe  ye'll  do't  the  nicht." 
120 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S   BELL 

"  Na,  there's  nae  hurry,"  said  Sam'l. 

"  Weel,  we're  a'  coontin'  on't,  Sam'l." 

"  Gae  wa  wi'  ye." 

"What  for  no?" 

"  Gae  wa  wi'  ye,"  said  Sam'l  again. 

"  Bell's  gei  an'  fond  o'  ye,  Sam'l." 

"  Ay,"  said  Sam'l. 

"  But  am  dootin'  ye're  a  fell  billy  wi'  the  lasses." 

"  Ay,  oh,  I  d'na  kin,  moderate,  moderate,"  said 
Sam'l,  in  high  delight. 

"  I  saw  ye,"  said  Eppie,  speaking  with  a  wire 
in  her  mouth,  "  gae'in  on  terr'ble  wi  Mysy  Hag- 
gart  at  the  pump  last  Saturday." 

"  We  was  juist  amoosin'  oorsels,"  said  Sam'l. 

"  It'll  be  nae  amoosement  to  Mysy,"  said  Eppie, 
"  gin  ye  brak  her  heart." 

"  Losh,  Eppie,"  said  Sam'l,  "  I  didna  think  o^ 

that." 

"  Ye  maun  kin  weel,  Sam'l,  'at  there's  mony  a 
lass  wid  jump  at  ye." 

"  Ou,  weel,"  said  Sam'l,  implying  that  a  man 
must  take  these  things  as  they  come. 

"  For  ye're  a  dainty  chield  to  look  at,  Sam'l." 

"  Do  ye  think  so,  Eppie '?  Ay,  ay ;  oh,  I  d'na 
kin  am  onything  by  the  ordinar." 

"Ye  maynabe,"  said  Eppie,  "but  lasses  doesna 
do  to  be  ower  partikler." 

Sam'l  resented  this,  and  prepared  to  depart  again. 

"  Ye'll  no  tell  Bell  thaf?  "  he  asked,  anxiously. 
121 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

"  Tell  her  what  ?  " 

"  Aboot  me  an'  Mysy." 

"  We'll  see  hoo  ye  behave  yersel,  Sam'l." 

"  No  'at  I  care,  Eppie ;  ye  can  tell  her  gin  ye 
like.     I  widna  think  twice  o'  tellin  her  mysel." 

"  The  Lord  forgie  ye  for  leein',  Sam'l,"  said 
Eppie,  as  he  disappeared  down  Tammy  Tosh's 
close.     Here  he  came  upon  Henders  Webster. 

"  Ye're  late,  Sam'l,"  said  Henders. 

"What  for?" 

"  Ou,  I  was  thinkin'  ye  wid  be  gaen  the  length 
o'  T'nowhead  the  nicht,  an'  I  saw  Sanders  Elshioner 
makkin's  wy  there  an  oor  syne." 

"  Did  ye  ?  "  cried  Sam'l,  adding  craftily,  "  but 
it's  naething  to  me." 

"  Tod,  lad,"  said  Henders,  "  gin  ye  dinna  buckle 
to,  Sanders'll  be  carry  in'  her  off." 

Sam'l  flung  back  his  head  and  passed  on. 

"  Sam'l  I  "  cried  Henders  after  him. 

"  Ay,"  said  Sam'l,  wheeling  round. 

"  Gie  Bell  a  kiss  frae  me." 

The  full  force  of  this  joke  struck  neither  all  at 
once.  Sam'l  began  to  smile  at  it  as  he  turned 
down  the  school-wynd,  and  it  came  upon  Henders 
while  he  was  in  his  garden  feeding  his  ferret.  Then 
he  slapped  his  legs  gleefully,  and  explained  the 
conceit  to  Will'um  Byars,  who  went  into  the  house 
and  thought  it  over. 

There  were  twelve  or  twenty  little  groups  of 

122 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S   BELL 

men  in  the  square,  which  was  lit  by  a  flare  of  oil 
suspended  over  a  cadger's  cart.  Now  and  again 
a  staid  young  woman  passed  through  the  square 
with  a  basket  on  her  arm,  and  if  she  had  Hngered 
long  enough  to  give  them  time,  some  of  the  idlers 
would  have  addressed  her.  As  it  was,  they  gazed 
after  her,  and  then  grinned  to  each  other. 

"  Ay,  Sam'l,"  said  two  or  three  young  men,  as 
Sam'l  joined  them  beneath  the  town  clock. 

"  Ay,  Davit,"  replied  Sam'l. 

This  group  was  composed  of  some  of  the  sharp- 
est wits  in  Thrums,  and  it  was  not  to  be  expected 
that  they  would  let  this  opportunity  pass.  Per- 
haps when  Sam'l  joined  them  he  knew  what  was 
in  store  for  him. 

"  Was  ye  lookin'  for  T'nowhead's  Bell,  Sam'l  ?  " 
asked  one. 

"  Or  mebbe  ye  was  wantin'  the  minister*?  "  sug- 
gested another,  the  same  who  had  walked  out  twice 
with  Chirsty  Duff  and  not  married  her  after  all. 

Sam'l  could  not  think  of  a  good  reply  at  the 
moment,  so  he  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"  Ondoobtedly  she's  a  snod  bit  crittur,"  said 
Davit,  archly. 

"An'  michty  clever  wi'  her  fingers,"  added 
Jamie  Deuchars. 

"  Man,  I've  thocht  o'  makkin'  up  to  Bell  mvsel," 
said  Pete  Ogle.  "  Wid  there  be  ony  chance,  think 
ye,  Sam'l  ?  " 

123 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

''  I'm  thinkin'  she  widna  hae  ye  for  her  first, 
Pete,"  replied  Sam'l,  in  one  of  those  happy  flashes 
that  come  to  some  men,  "  but  there's  nae  sayin' 
but  what  she  micht  tak  ye  to  finish  up  wi.'  " 

The  unexpectedness  of  this  sally  startled  every 
one.  Though  Sam'l  did  not  set  up  for  a  wit, 
however,  like  Davit,  it  was  notorious  that  he  could 
say  a  cutting  thing  once  in  a  way. 

"Did  ye  ever  see  Bell  reddin  up  ?  "  asked  Pete, 
recovering  from  his  overthrow.  He  was  a  man 
who  bore  no  malice. 

"  It's  a  sicht,"  said  Sam'l,  solemnly. 

"  Hoo  will  that  be  ?  "  asked  Jamie  Deuchars. 

"  It's  weel  worth  yer  while,"  said  Pete,  "  to  ging 
atower  to  the  T'nowhead  an'  see.  Ye'll  mind  the 
closed-in  beds  i'  the  kitchen  ?  Ay,  weel,  they're 
a  fell  spoilt  crew,  T'nowhead's  litlins,  an'  no  that 
aisy  to  manage.  Th'  ither  lasses  Lisbeth's  hae'n 
had  a  michty  trouble  wi'  them.  When  they  war 
i'  the  middle  o'  their  reddin  up  the  bairns  wid 
come  tumlin'  about  the  floor,  but,  sal,  I  assure  ye. 
Bell  didna  fash  lang  wi'  them.    Did  she,  Sam'l  ?  " 

"  She  did  not,"  said  Sam'l,  dropping  into  a  fine 
mode  of  speech  to  add  emphasis  to  his  remark. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  what  she  did,"  said  Pete  to  the  others. 
"  She  juist  lifted  up  the  litlins,  twa  at  a  time,  an' 
flung  them  into  the  cotfin-beds.  Syne  she  snibbit 
the  doors  on  them,  an'  keepit  them  there  till  the 
floor  was  dry." 

124 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S   BELL 

"  Ay,  man,  did  she  so  ?  "  said  Davit,  admiringly. 

"  I've  seen  her  do't  mysel,"  said  Sam'l. 

"  There's  no  a  lassie  maks  better  bannocks  this 
side  o'  Fetter  Lums,"  continued  Pete. 

"  Her  mither  tocht  her  that,"  said  Sam'l ;  "  she 
was  a  gran'  han'  at  the  bakin',  Kitty  Ogilvy." 

"  I've  heard  say,"  remarked  Jamie,  putting  it  this 
way  so  as  not  to  tie  himself  down  to  anything,  "  'at 
Bell's  scones  is  equal  to  Mag  Lunan's." 

"  So  they  are,"  said  Sam'l,  almost  fiercely. 

"  I  kin  she's  a  neat  han'  at  singein'  a  hen,"  said 
Pete. 

"An'  wi't  a',"  said  Davit,  "  she's  a  snod,  canty  bit 
stocky  in  her  Sabbath  claes." 

*'  If  onything,  thick  in  the  waist,"  suggested 
Jamie. 

"  I  dinna  see  that,"  said  Sam'l. 

"  I  d'na  care  for  her  hair  either,"  continued 
Jamie,  who  was  very  nice  in  his  tastes ;  "  some- 
thing mair  yallowchy  wid  be  an  improvement." 

"  A'body  kins,"  growled  Sam'l,  "  'at  black  hair's 
the  bonniest." 

The  others  chuckled. 

"  Puir  Sam'l  I  "  Pete  said. 

Sam'l  not  being  certain  whether  this  should  be 
received  with  a  smile  or  a  frown,  opened  his  mouth 
wide  as  a  kind  of  compromise.  This  was  position 
one  with  him  for  thinking  things  over. 

Few  Auld  Lichts,  as  I  have  said,  went  the  length 
125 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

of  choosing  a  helpmate  for  themselves.  One  day 
a  young  man's  friends  would  see  him  mending  the 
washing  tub  of  a  maiden's  mother.  They  kept  the 
joke  until  Saturday  night,  and  then  he  learned  from 
them  what  he  had  been  after.  It  dazed  him  for  a 
time,  but  in  a  year  or  so  he  grew  accustomed  to 
the  idea,  and  they  were  then  married.  With  a 
little  help  he  fell  in  love  just  like  other  people. 

Sam'l  was  going  the  way  of  the  others,  but  he 
found  it  difficult  to  come  to  the  point.  He  only 
went  courting  once  a  week,  and  he  could  never 
take  up  the  running  at  the  place  where  he  left  off 
the  Saturday  before.  Thus  he  had  not,  so  far, 
made  great  headway.  His  method  of  making  up 
to  Bell  had  been  to  drop  in  at  T'nowhead  on  Satur- 
day nights  and  talk  with  the  farmer  about  the  rin- 
derpest. 

The  farm  kitchen  was  Bell's  testimonial.  Its 
chairs,  tables,  and  stools  were  scoured  by  her  to 
the  whiteness  of  Rob  Angus's  sawmill  boards,  and 
the  muslin  blind  on  the  window  was  starched  like 
a  child's  pinafore.  Bell  was  brave,  too,  as  well  as 
energetic.  Once  Thrums  had  been  overrun  with 
thieves.  It  is  now  thought  that  there  may  have 
been  only  one,  but  he  had  the  wicked  cleverness 
of  a  gang.  Such  was  his  repute  that  there  were 
weavers  who  spoke  of  locking  their  doors  when 
they  went  from  home.  He  was  not  very  skilful, 
however,  being  generally  caught,  and  when  they 

126 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S   BELL 

said  they  knew  he  was  a  robber  he  gave  them  their 
things  back  and  went  away.  If  they  had  given 
him  time  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  would  have 
gone  off  with  his  plunder.  One  night  he  went  to 
T'nowhead,  and  Bell,  who  slept  in  the  kitchen, 
was  wakened  by  the  noise.  She  knew  who  it 
would  be,  so  she  rose  and  dressed  herself,  and  went 
to  look  for  him  with  a  candle.  The  thief  had  not 
known  what  to  do  when  he  got  in,  and  as  it  was 
very  lonely  he  was  glad  to  see  Bell.  She  told  him 
he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself,  and  would  not 
let  him  out  by  the  door  until  he  had  taken  off  his 
boots  so  as  not  to  soil  the  carpet. 

On  this  Saturday  evening  Sam'l  stood  his  ground 
in  the  square,  until  by  and  by  he  found  himself 
alone.  There  were  other  groups  there  still,  but 
his  circle  had  melted  away.  They  went  separately, 
and  no  one  said  good-night.  Each  took  himself 
off  slowly,  backing  out  of  the  group  until  he  was 
fairly  started. 

Sam'l  looked  about  him,  and  then,  seeing  that 
the  others  had  gone,  walked  round  the  townhouse 
into  the  darkness  of  the  brae  that  leads  down  and 
then  up  to  the  farm  of  T'nowhead. 

To  get  into  the  good  graces  of  Lisbeth  Fargus 
you  had  to  know  her  ways  and  humour  them. 
Sam'l,  who  was  a  student  of  women,  knew  this, 
and  so,  instead  of  pushing  the  door  open  and 
walking  in,  he  went  through  the  rather  ridiculous 

127 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

ceremony  of  knocking.  Sanders  Elshioner  was 
also  aware  of  this  weakness  of  Lisbeth's,  but, 
though  he  often  made  up  his  mind  to  knock,  the 
absurdity  of  the  thing  prevented  his  doing  so 
when  he  reached  the  door.  T'nowhead  himself 
had  never  got  used  to  his  wife's  refined  notions, 
and  when  any  one  knocked  he  always  started  to 
his  feet,  thinking  there  must  be  something  wrong. 

Lisbeth  came  to  the  door,  her  expansive  figure 
blocking  the  way  in. 

"  Sam'l,"  she  said. 

"  Lisbeth,"  said  Sam'l. 

He  shook  hands  with  the  farmer's  wife,  know- 
ing that  she  liked  it,  but  only  said,  "  Ay,  Bell,"  to 
his  sweetheart,  "  Ay,  T'nowhead,"  to  McOuhatty, 
and  "  It's  yersel,  Sanders,"  to  his  rival. 

They  were  all  sitting  round  the  fire,  T'nowhead, 
with  his  feet  on  the  ribs,  wondering  why  he  felt  so 
warm,  and  Bell  darned  a  stocking,  while  Lisbeth 
kept  an  eye  on  a  goblet  full  of  potatoes. 

"  Sit  into  the  fire,  Sam'l,"  said  the  farmer,  not, 
however,  making  way  for  him. 

"  Na,  na,"  said  Sam'l,  "  I'm  to  bide  nae  time." 
Then  he  sat  into  the  fire.  His  face  was  turned 
away  from  Bell,  and  when  she  spoke  he  answered 
her  without  looking  round.  Sam'l  felt  a  little  anx- 
ious. Sanders  Elshioner,  who  had  one  leg  shorter 
than  the  other,  but  looked  well  when  sitting, 
seemed    suspiciously  at   home.     He    asked    Bell 

128 


SABBATH  AT  T'NOWHEAD. 

From  a  photograph  by  G.   W.    Wilson, 


AULD    LIGHT    IDYLLS 

ceremony  of  knocking.  Sanders  Elshioner  was 
also  aware  of  this  weakness  of  Lisbeth's,  but, 
though  he  often  made  up  his  mind  to  knock,  the 
absurdity  of  the  thing  prevented  his  doing  so 
when  he  reached  the  door.  T'nowhead  himself 
had  never  got  used  to  his  wife's  refined  notions, 
and  when  any  one  knocked  he  always  started  to 
his  feet,  thinking  there  must  be  something  wrong. 

Lisbeth  came  to  the  door,  her  expansive  figure 
blocking  the  way  in. 

"  Sam'l,"  she  said. 

"  Lisbeth,''  said  Sam'l 

He  shook  hands  with  the  farmer's  wife,  know- 
ing that  she  liked  it,  but  only  said,  "  Ay,  Bell,"  to 
his  sweetheart,  "  Ay,  T'nowhead,"  to  McOuhatty, 
and  "  It's  yersel,  Sanders,"  to  his  rival. 

They  were  all  sitting  round  the  fire,  T'nowhead, 
with  his  feet  on  the  ribs,  wondering  why  he  felt  so 
warm,  and  Bell  darned  a  stocking,  while  Lisbeth 
kept  an  eye  on  a  goblet  full  of  potatoes. 

"  Sit  into  the  fire,  Sam'l,"  said  the  farmer,  not, 
however,  making  way  for  him. 

"Na,  na,"  said  Sam'l,  "I'm  to  bide  nae  time." 
Then  he  sat  into  the  fire.  His  face  was  turned 
away  from  Bell,  and  when  she  spoke  he  answered 
her  without  looking  round.  Sam'l  felt  a  little  anx- 
ious. Sanders  Elshioner,  who  had  one  leg  shorter 
than  the  •W^fJ'TOt^To^t^dH^^flaMien  sitting, 
seemed    slR|\\?\o\^lf^  ;J^ '^J\^^^\5?^  ^r\sked    Bell 

128 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S    BELL 

questions  out  of  his  own  head,  which  was  beyond 
Sam'l,  and  once  he  said  something  to  her  in  such 
a  low  voice  that  the  others  could  not  catch  it. 
T'nowhead  asked  curiously  what  it  was,  and  San- 
ders explained  that  he  had  only  said,  ''Ay,  Bell, 
the  morn's  the  Sabbath."  There  was  nothing 
startling  in  this,  but  Sam'l  did  not  like  it.  He 
began  to  wonder  if  he  was  too  late,  and  had  he 
seen  his  opportunity  would  have  told  Bell  of  a 
nasty  rumour  that  Sanders  intended  to  go  over  to 
the  Free  Church  if  they  would  make  him  kirk- 
officer. 

Sam'l  had  the  good-will  of  T'now^head's  wife, 
who  liked  a  polite  man.  Sanders  did  his  best,  but 
from  want  of  practice  he  constantly  made  mistakes. 
To-night,  for  instance,  he  wore  his  hat  in  the  house 
because  he  did  not  like  to  put  up  his  hand  and 
take  it  off.  T'nowhead  had  not  taken  his  off 
either,  but  that  was  because  he  meant  to  go  out 
by  and  by  and  lock  the  byre  door.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  say  which  of  her  lovers  Bell  preferred. 
The  proper  course  with  an  Auld  Licht  lassie  was 
to  prefer  the  man  who  proposed  to  her. 

"  Ye'll  bide  a  wee,  an'  hae  something  to  eat  ?  " 
Lisbeth  asked  Sam'l,  with  her  eyes  on  the  goblet. 

"  No,  I  thank  ye,"  said  Sam'l,  with  true  gen- 
teelity. 

-Ye'll  better?" 

"  I  dinna  think  it." 

129 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

"  Hoots  aye  ;  what's  to  bender  ye  ?  " 

"  Weel,  since  ye're  sae  pressin',  I'll  bide." 

No  one  asked  Sanders  to  stay.  Bell  could  not, 
for  sbe  was  but  the  servant,  and  T'nowhead  knew 
that  the  kick  his  wife  had  given  him  meant  that 
he  was  not  to  do  so  either.  Sanders  whistled  to 
show  that  he  was  not  uncomfortable. 

"Ay,  then,  I'll  be  stappin'  ower  the  brae,"  he 
said  at  last. 

He  did  not  go,  however.  There  was  sufficient 
pride  in  him  to  get  him  off  his  chair,  but  only 
slowly,  for  he  had  to  get  accustomed  to  the  notion 
of  going.  At  intervals  of  two  or  three  minutes  he 
remarked  that  he  must  now  be  going.  In  the 
same  circumstances  Sam'l  would  have  acted  simi- 
larly. For  a  Thrums  man  it  is  one  of  the  hardest 
things  in  life  to  get  away  from  anywhere. 

At  last  Lisbeth  saw  that  something  must  be 
done.  The  potatoes  were  burning,  and  T'now- 
head had  an  invitation  on  his  tongue. 

"  Yes,  I'll  hae  to  be  movin',"  said  Sanders,  hope- 
lessly, for  the  fifth  time. 

"  Guid  nicht  to  ye,  then,  Sanders,"  said  Lisbeth. 
"  Gie  the  door  a  fling-to,  ahent  ye." 

Sanders,  with  a  mighty  effort,  pulled  himself  to- 
gether. He  looked  boldly  at  Bell,  and  then  took 
off  his  hat  carefully.  Sam'l  saw  with  misgivings 
that  there  was  something  in  it  which  was  not  a 
handkerchief     It  was  a  paper  bag  glittering  with 

130 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S   BELL 

gold  braid,  and  contained  such  an  assortment  of 
sweets  as  lads  bought  for  their  lasses  on  the 
Muckle  Friday. 

"■  Hae,  Bell,"  said  Sanders,  handing  the  bag  to 
Bell  in  an  off-hand  way  as  if  it  were  but  a  trifle. 
Nevertheless  he  was  a  little  excited,  for  he  went 
off  without  saying  good-night. 

No  one  spoke.  Bell's  face  was  crimson.  T'now- 
head  hdgetted  on  his  chair,  and  Lisbeth  looked  at 
Sam'l.  The  weaver  was  strangely  calm  and  col- 
lected, though  he  would  have  liked  to  know 
whether  this  was  a  proposal. 

''Sit  in  by  to  the  table,  Sam'l,"  said  Lisbeth, 
trying  to  look  as  if  things  were  as  they  had  been 
before. 

She  put  a  saucerful  of  butter,  salt,  and  pepper 
near  the  fire  to  melt,  for  melted  butter  is  the  shoe- 
ing-horn  that  helps  over  a  meal  of  potatoes.  Sam'l, 
however,  saw  what  the  hour  required,  and  jumping 
up,  he  seized  his  bonnet. 

"  Hing  the  tatties  higher  up  the  joist,  Lis- 
beth," he  said  with  dignity;  '' I'se  be  back  in  ten 
meenits." 

He  hurried  out  of  the  house,  leaving  the  others 
looking  at  each  other. 

"  What  do  ye  think  ?  "  asked  Lisbeth. 

"  I  d'na  kin,"  faltered  Bell. 

"  Thae  tatties  is  lang  o'  comin'  to  the  boil,"  said 
T'nowhead. 

131 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

In  some  circles  a  lover  who  behaved  like  Sam'l 
would  have  been  suspected  of  intent  upon  his 
rival's  life,  but  neither  Bell  nor  Lisbeth  did  the 
weaver  that  injustice.  In  a  case  of  this  kind  it 
does  not  much  matter  what  T'nowhead  thought. 

The  ten  minutes  had  barely  passed  when  Sam'l 
was  back  in  the  farm  kitchen.  He  was  too  flurried 
to  knock  this  time,  and,  indeed,  Lisbeth  did  not 
expect  it  of  him. 

"  Bell,  hae  I "  he  cried,  handing  his  sweetheart  a 
tinsel  bag  twice  the  size  of  Sanders's  gift. 

"  Losh  preserve's  ! "  exclaimed  Lisbeth ;  "  I'se 
warrant  there's  a  shillin's  worth." 

"There's  a'  that,  Lisbeth  —  an'  mair,"  said 
Sam'l,  firmly. 

"  I  thank  ye,  Sam'l,"  said  Bell,  feeling  an  un- 
wonted elation  as  she  gazed  at  the  two  paper  bags 
in  her  lap. 

"  Ye're  ower  extravegint,  Sam'l,"  Lisbeth  said. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Sam'l ;  "  not  at  all.  But  I 
widna  advise  ye  to  eat  thae  ither  anes,  Bell  — 
they're  second  quality." 

Bell  drew  back  a  step  from  Sam'l. 

"  How  do  ye  kin  ?  "  asked  the  farmer  shortly, 
for  he  liked  Sanders. 

"  I  spiered  i'  the  shop,"  said  Sam'l. 

The  goblet  was  placed  on  a  broken  plate  on  the 
table  with  the  saucer  beside  it,  and  Sam'l,  like  the 
others,  helped  himself     What  he  did  was  to  take 

132 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S   BELL 

potatoes  from  the  pot  with  his  fingers,  peel  off  their 
coats,  and  then  dip  them  into  the  butter.  Lisbeth 
would  have  liked  to  provide  knives  and  forks,  but 
she  knew  that  beyond  a  certain  point  T'nowhead 
was  master  in  his  own  house.  As  for  Sam'l,  he  felt 
victory  in  his  hands,  and  began  to  think  that  he  had 
gone  too  far. 

In  the  meantime  Sanders,  little  witting  that 
Sam'l  had  trumped  his  trick,  was  sauntering  along 
the  kirk-wynd,  with  his  hat  on  the  side  of  his  head. 
Fortunately  he  did  not  meet  the  minister. 

The  courting  of  T'nowhead's  Bell  reached  its 
crisis  one  Sabbath  about  a  month  after  the  events 
above  recorded.  The  minister  was  in  great  force 
that  day,  but  it  is  no  part  of  mine  to  tell  how  he 
bore  himself  I  was  there,  and  am  not  likely  to 
forget  the  scene.  It  was  a  fateful  Sabbath  for 
T'nowhead's  Bell  and  her  swains,  and  destined  to 
be  remembered  for  the  painful  scandal  which  they 
perpetrated  in  their  passion. 

Bell  was  not  in  the  kirk.  There  being  an  infant 
of  six  months  in  the  house  it  was  a  question  of 
either  Lisbeth  or  the  lassie's  staying  at  home  with 
him,  and  though  Lisbeth  was  unselfish  in  a  general 
way,  she  could  not  resist  the  delight  of  going  to 
church.  She  had  nine  children  besides  the  baby, 
and  being  but  a  woman,  it  was  the  pride  of  her 
life  to  march  them  into  the  T'nowhead  pew,  so 
well  watched  that  they  dared  not  misbehave,  and 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

so  tightly  packed  that  they  could  not  fall.  The 
congregation  looked  at  that  pew,  the  mothers  envi- 
ously, when  they  sang  the  lines  — 

**  Jerusalem  like  a  city  is 
Compactly  built  together." 

The  first  half  of  the  service  had  been  gone 
through  on  this  particular  Sunday  without  any- 
thing remarkable  happening.  It  was  at  the  end 
of  the  psalm  which  preceded  the  sermon  that 
Sanders  Elshioner,  who  sat  near  the  door,  lowered 
his  head  until  it  was  no  higher  than  the  pews,  and 
in  that  attitude,  looking  almost  like  a  four-footed 
animal,  slipped  out  of  the  church.  In  their  eager- 
ness to  be  at  the  sermon  many  of  the  congregation 
did  not  notice  him,  and  those  who  did  put  the 
matter  by  in  their  minds  for  future  investigation. 
Sam'l,  however,  could  not  take  it  so  coolly.  From 
his  seat  in  the  gallery  he  saw  Sanders  disappear, 
and  his  mind  misgave  him.  With  the  true  lover's 
instinct  he  understood  it  all.  Sanders  had  been 
struck  by  the  fine  turn-out  in  the  T'nowhead  pew. 
Bell  was  alone  at  the  farm.  What  an  opportunity 
to  work  one's  way  up  to  a  proposal.  T'nowhead 
was  so  overrun  with  children  that  such  a  chance 
seldom  occurred,  except  on  a  Sabbath.  Sanders, 
doubtless,  was  off  to  propose,  and  he,  Sam'l,  was 
left  behind. 

The  suspense  was  terrible.     Sam'l  and  Sanders 

134 


COURTING   OF    T'NOWHEAD'S    BELL 

had  both  known  all  along  that  Bell  would  take  the 
first  of  the  two  who  asked  her.  Even  those  who 
thought  her  proud  admitted  that  she  was  modest. 
Bitterly  the  weaver  repented  having  waited  so 
long.  Now  it  was  too  late.  In  ten  minutes 
Sanders  would  be  at  T'nowhead ;  in  an  hour  all 
would  be  over.  Sam'l  rose  to  his  feet  in  a  daze. 
His  mother  pulled  him  down  by  the  coat-tail,  and 
his  father  shook  him,  thinking  he  was  walking  in 
his  sleep.  He  tottered  past  them,  however,  hurried 
up  the  aisle,  which  was  so  narrow  that  Dan'l  Ross 
could  only  reach  his  seat  by  walking  sideways, 
and  was  gone  before  the  minister  could  do  more 
than  stop  in  the  middle  of  a  whirl  and  gape  in 
horror  after  him. 

A  number  of  the  congregation  felt  that  day  the 
advantage  of  sitting  in  the  laft.  What  was  a 
mystery  to  those  downstairs  was  revealed  to  them. 
From  the  gallery  windows  they  had  a  fine  open 
view  to  the  south;  and  as  Sam'l  took  the  com- 
mon, which  was  a  short  cut  though  a  steep  as- 
cent, to  T'nowhead,  he  was  never  out  of  their  line 
of  vision.  Sanders  was  not  to  be  seen,  but  they 
guessed  rightly  the  reason  why.  Thinking  he  had 
ample  time,  he  had  gone  round  by  the  main  road 
to  save  his  boots — perhaps  a  little  scared  by  what 
was  coming.  Sam'l's  design  was  to  forestall  him 
by  taking  the  shorter  path  over  the  burn  and  up 
the  commonty. 

135 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

It  was  a  race  for  a  wife,  and  several  on-lookers 
in  the  gallery  braved  the  minister's  displeasure  to 
see  who  won.  Those  who  favoured  Sam'l's  suit 
exultingly  saw  him  leap  the  stream,  while  the 
friends  of  Sanders  fixed  their  eyes  on  the  top  of 
the  common  where  it  ran  into  the  road.  Sanders 
must  come  into  sight  there,  and  the  one  who 
reached  this  point  first  would  get  Bell. 

As  Auld  Lichts  do  not  walk  abroad  on  the  Sab- 
bath, Sanders  would  probably  not  be  delayed. 
The  chances  were  in  his  favour.  Had  it  been 
any  other  day  in  the  week  Sam'l  might  have  run. 
So  some  of  the  congregation  in  the  gallery  were 
thinking,  when  suddenly  they  saw  him  bend  low 
and  then  take  to  his  heels.  He  had  caught  sight 
of  Sanders's  head  bobbing  over  the  hedge  that  sep- 
arated the  road  from  the  common,  and  feared  that 
Sanders  might  see  him.  The  congregation  who 
could  crane  their  necks  sufficiently  saw  a  black 
object,  which  they  guessed  to  be  the  carter's  hat, 
crawling  along  the  hedge-top.  For  a  moment  it 
was  motionless,  and  then  it  shot  ahead.  The  ri- 
vals had  seen  each  other.  It  was  now  a  hot  race. 
Sam'l,  dissembling  no  longer,  clattered  up  the 
common,  becoming  smaller  and  smaller  to  the  on- 
lookers as  he  neared  the  top.  More  than  one  per- 
son in  the  gallery  almost  rose  to  their  feet  in  their 
excitement.  Sam'l  had  it.  No,  Sanders  was  in 
front.      Then   the   two   figures   disappeared   from 

136 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S   BELL 

view.  They  seemed  to  run  into  each  other  at  the 
top  of  the  brae,  and  no  one  could  say  who  was 
first.  The  congregation  looked  at  one  another. 
Some  of  them  perspired.  But  the  minister  held 
on  his  course. 

Sam'l  had  just  been  in  time  to  cut  Sanders  out. 
It  was  the  weaver's  saving  that  Sanders  saw  this 
when  his  rival  turned  the  corner;  for  Sam'l  was 
sadly  blown.  Sanders  took  in  the  situation  and 
gave  in  at  once.  The  last  hundred  yards  of  the 
distance  he  covered  at  his  leisure,  and  when  he  ar- 
rived at  his  destination  he  did  not  go  in.  It  was 
a  fine  afternoon  for  the  time  of  year,  and  he  went 
round  to  have  a  look  at  the  pig,  about  which 
T'nowhead  was  a  little  sinfully  pufied  up. 

"  Ay,"  said  Sanders,  digging  his  fingers  critically 
into  the  grunting  animal ;  "  quite  so." 

"Grumph,"  said  the  pig,  getting  reluctantly  to 
his  feet. 

"  Ou  ay ;  yes,"  said  Sanders,  thoughtfully. 

Then  he  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  sty,  and 
looked  long  and  silently  at  an  empty  bucket.  But 
whether  his  thoughts  were  of  T'nowhead's  Bell, 
whom  he  had  lost  for  ever,  or  of  the  food  the  far- 
mer fed  his  pig  on,  is  not  known. 

"  Lord  preserve's  !  Are  ye  no  at  the  kirk  ?  " 
cried  Bell,  nearly  dropping  the  baby  as  Sam'l 
broke  into  the  room. 

"  Bell !  "  cried  Sam'l. 

^37 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

Then  T'nowhead's  Bell  knew  that  her  hour  had 
come. 

"  Sam'l,"  she  faltered. 

"Will  ye  hae's  Bell'?"  demanded  Sam'l,  glar- 
ing at  her  sheepishly. 

"  Ay,"  answered  Bell. 

Sam'l  fell  into  a  chair. 

"  Bring's  a  drink  o'  water.  Bell,"  he  said. 

But  Bell  thought  the  occasion  required  milk, 
and  there  was  none  in  the  kitchen.  She  went  out 
to  the  byre,  still  with  the  baby  in  her  arms,  and 
saw  Sanders  Elshioner  sitting  gloomily  on  the 
pigsty. 

"  Weel,  Bell,"  said  Sanders. 

"  I  thocht  ye'd  been  at  the  kirk,  Sanders,"  said 
Bell. 

Then  there  was  a  silence  between  them. 

"  Has  Sam'l  spiered  ye.  Bell  ?  "  asked  Sanders, 
stolidly. 

"  Ay,"  said  Bell  again,  and  this  time  there  was 
a  tear  in  her  eye.  Sanders  was  little  better  than 
an  "  orra  man,"  and  Sam'l  was  a  weaver,  and  yet 

But  it  was  too  late  now.     Sanders  gave  the 

pig  a  vicious  poke  with  a  stick,  and  when  it  had 
ceased  to  grunt,  Bell  was  back  in  the  kitchen. 
She  had  forgotten  about  the  milk,  however,  and 
Sam'l  only  got  water  after  all. 

In  after  days,  when  the  story  of  Bell's  wooing 
was  told,  there  were  some  who  held  that  the  cir- 

138 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S    BELL 

cumstances  would  have  almost  justified  the  lassie 
in  giving  Sam'l  the  go-by.  But  these  perhaps  for- 
got that  her  other  lover  was  in  the  same  predica- 
ment as  the  accepted  one  —  that  of  the  two,  in- 
deed, he  was  the  more  to  blame,  for  he  set  off  to 
T'nowhead  on  the  Sabbath  of  his  own  accord, 
while  Sam'l  only  ran  after  him.  And  then  there 
is  no  one  to  say  for  certain  whether  Bell  heard  of 
her  suitors'  delinquencies  until  Lisbeth's  return 
from  the  kirk.  Sam'l  could  never  remember 
whether  he  told  her,  and  Bell  was  not  sure 
whether,  if  he  did,  she  took  it  in.  Sanders  was 
greatly  in  demand  for  weeks  after  to  tell  what  he 
knew  of  the  affair,  but  though  he  was  twice  asked 
to  tea  to  the  manse  among  the  trees,  and  subjected 
thereafter  to  ministerial  cross-examinations,  this  is 
all  he  told.  He  remained  at  the  pigsty  until 
Sam'l  left  the  farm,  when  he  joined  him  at  the 
top  of  the  brae,  and  they  went  home  together. 

"  It's  yersel,  Sanders,"  said  Sam'l. 

"  It  is  so,  Sam'l,"  said  Sanders. 

"  Very  cauld,"  said  Sam'l. 

"  Blawy,"  assented  Sanders. 

After  a  pause  — 

"  Sam'l,"  said  Sanders. 

"  Ay." 

"  I'm  hearin'  yer  to  be  mairit." 

"  Ay." 

*'  Weel,  Sam'l,  she's  a  snod  bit  lassie." 

139 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

"  Thank  ye,"  said  Sam'l. 

"  I  had  ance  a  kin'  o'  notion  o'  Bell  mysel,"  con- 
tinued Sanders. 

"Ye  had?" 

"  Yes,  Sam'l ;  but  I  thocht  better  o't." 

"  Hoo  d'ye  mean  *?  "  asked  Sam'l,  a  little  anx- 
iously. 

"  Weel,  Sam'l,  mairitch  is  a  terrible  responsi- 
beelity." 

"  It  is  so,"  said  Sam'l,  wincing. 

"  An'  no  the  thing  to  tak  up  withoot  conseeder- 
ation." 

"  But  it's  a  blessed  and  honourable  state,  San- 
ders; ye've  heard  the  minister  on't." 

"  They  say,"  continued  the  relentless  Sanders, 
''  'at  the  minister  doesna  get  on  sair  wi'  the  wife 
himsel." 

"  So  they  do,"  cried  Sam'l,  with  a  sinking  at  the 
heart. 

''I've  been  telt,"  Sanders  went  on,  "'at  gin  ye 
can  get  the  upper  han'  o'  the  wife  for  a  while  at 
first,  there's  the  mair  chance  o'  a  harmonious  ex- 
eestence." 

"  Bell's  no  the  lassie,"  said  Sam'l,  appealingly, 
"  to  thwart  her  man." 

Sanders  smiled. 

"  D'  ye  think  she  is,  Sanders  ?  " 

"  Weel,  Sam'l,  I  d'na  want  to  fluster  ye,  but 
she's  been  ower  lang  wi'  Lisbeth  Fargus  no  to  hae 

140 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S    BELL 

learnt   her   ways.      An   a'body   kins   what   a   life 
T'nowhead  has  wi'  her." 

"Guid  sake,  Sanders,  hoo  did  ye  no  speak  o' 
this  afore?" 

"  I  thocht  ye  kent  o't,  Sam'l." 

They  had  now  reached  the  square,  and  the  U.  P. 
kirk  was  coming  out.  The  Auld  Licht  kirk  would 
be  half  an  hour  yet. 

"  But,  Sanders,"  said  Sam'l,  brightening  up,  "  ye 
was  on  yer  way  to  spier  her  yersel." 

"  I  was,  Sam'l,"  said  Sanders,  "  and  I  canna  but 
be  thankfu  ye  was  ower  quick  for's." 

"  Gin't  hadna  been  you,"  said  Sam'l,  "  I  wid 
never  hae  thocht  o't." 

"  I'm  sayin'  naething  agin  Bell,"  pursued  the 
other,  "  but,  man  Sam'l,  a  body  should  be  mair 
deleeberate  in  a  thing  o'  the  kind." 

"  It  was  michty  hurried,"  said  Sam'l,  woefully. 

"  It's  a  serious  thing  to  spier  a  lassie,"  said  San- 
ders. 

"  It's  an  awfu  thing,"  said  Sam'l. 

"  But  we'll  hope  for  the  best,"  added  Sanders, 
in  a  hopeless  voice. 

They  were  close  to  the  Tenements  now,  and  Sam'l 
looked  as  if  he  were  on  his  way  to  be  hanged. 

"Sam'l?" 

"Ay,  Sanders." 

"Did  ye  —  did  ye  kiss  her,  Sam'l?" 

"Na." 

141 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

"Hoo?" 

"  There's  was  varra  little  time,  Sanders." 

"Half  an  'oor,"  said  Sanders. 

"  Was  there  ?  Man  Sanders,  to  tell  ye  the 
truth,  I  never  thocht  o't." 

Then  the  soul  of  Sanders  Elshioner  was  filled 
with  contempt  for  Sam'l  Dickie. 

The  scandal  blew  over.  At  first  it  was  expected 
that  the  minister  would  interfere  to  prevent  the 
union,  but  beyond  intimating  from  the  pulpit  that 
the  souls  of  Sabbath-breakers  were  beyond  praying 
for,  and  then  praying  for  Sam'l  and  Sanders  at 
great  length,  with  a  word  thrown  in  for  Bell,  he 
let  things  take  their  course.  Some  said  it  was  be- 
cause he  was  always  frightened  lest  his  young  men 
should  intermarry  with  other  denominations,  but 
Sanders  explained  it  differently  to  Sam'l. 

"  I  hav'na  a  word  to  say  agin  the  minister,"  he 
said ;  "  they're  gran'  prayers,  but  Sam'l,  he's  a 
mairit  man  himsel." 

"  He's  a'  the  better  for  that,  Sanders,  is'na  he '?  " 

"  Do  ye  no  see,"  asked  Sanders,  compassion- 
ately, "  'at  he's  tryin'  to  mak  the  best  o't  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Sanders,  man  !  "  said  Sam'l. 

"  Cheer  up,  Sam'l,"  said  Sanders,  "  it'll  sune  be 
ower." 

Their  having  been  rival  suitors  had  not  inter- 
fered with  their  friendship.  On  the  contrary,  while 
they  had  hitherto  been  mere  acquaintances,  they 

142 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S   BELL 

became  inseparables  as  the  wedding-day  drew  near. 
It  was  noticed  that  they  had  much  to  say  to  each 
other,  and  that  when  they  could  not  get  a  room  to 
themselves  they  wandered  about  together  in  the 
churchyard.  When  Sam'l  had  anything  to  tell 
Bell  he  sent  Sanders  to  tell  it,  and  Sanders  did  as 
he  was  bid.  There  was  nothing  that  he  would  not 
have  done  for  Sam'l. 

The  more  obliging  Sanders  was,  however,  the 
sadder  Sam'l  grew.  He  never  laughed  now  on 
Saturdays,  and  sometimes  his  loom  was  silent  half 
the  day.  Sam'l  felt  that  Sanders's  was  the  kind- 
ness of  a  friend  for  a  dying  man. 

It  was  to  be  a  penny  wedding,  and  Lisbeth  Far- 
gus  said  it  was  delicacy  that  made  Sam'l  superin- 
tend the  fitting-up  of  the  barn  by  deputy.  Once 
he  came  to  see  it  in  person,  but  he  looked  so  ill 
that  Sanders  had  to  see  him  home.  This  was  on 
the  Thursday  afternoon,  and  the  wedding  was 
fixed  for  Friday. 

"  Sanders,  Sanders,"  said  Sam'l,  in  a  voice 
strangely  unlike  his  own,  "  it'll  a'  be  ower  by  this 
time  the  morn." 

"  It  will,"  said  Sanders. 

"  If  I  had  only  kent  her  langer,"  continued 
Sam'l. 

"  It  wid  hae  been  safer,"  said  Sanders. 

"  Did  ye  see  the  yallow  floor  in  Bell's  bonnet  ?  '* 
asked  the  accepted  swain. 

H3 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

"  Ay,"  said  Sanders,  reluctantly. 

"  I'm  dootin'  —  I'm  sair  dootin'  she's  but  a 
flichty,  licht-hearted  crittur  after  a'." 

"  I  had  ay  my  suspeecions  o't,"  said  Sanders. 

"  Ye  hae  kent  her  langer  than  me,"  said  Sam'l. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sanders,  "  but  there's  nae  gettin'  at 
the  heart  o'  women.  Man,  Sam'l,  they're  des- 
perate cunnin'." 

"  I'm  dootin't ;  I'm  sair  dootin't." 

"  It'll  be  a  warnin'  to  ye,  Sam'l,  no  to  be  in  sic 
a  hurry  i'  the  futur,"  said  Sanders. 

Sam'l  groaned. 

"  Ye'U  be  gaein  up  to  the  manse  to  arrange  wi' 
the  minister  the  morn's  mornin',"  continued  San- 
ders in  a  subdued  voice. 

Sam'l  looked  wistfully  at  his  friend. 

"  I  canna  do't,  Sanders,"  he  said,  "  I  canna  do't." 

"  Ye  maun,"  said  Sanders. 

"  It's  aisy  to  speak,"  retorted  Sam'l,  bitterly. 

"  We  have  a'  oor  troubles,  Sam'l,"  said  Sanders, 
soothingly,  "  an'  every  man  maun  bear  his  ain 
burdens.  Johnny  Davie's  wife's  dead,  an'  he's  no 
repinin'." 

"  Ay,"  said  Sam'l,  "  but  a  death's  no  a  mairitch. 
We  hae  haen  deaths  in  our  family  too." 

"  It  may  a'  be  for  the  best,"  added  Sanders,  "  an' 
there  wid  be  a  michty  talk  i'  the  hale  country-side 
gin  ye  didna  ging  to  the  minister  like  a  man." 

"  I  maun  hae  langer  to  think  o't,"  said  Sam'l. 
144 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S   BELL 

"  Bell's  mairitch  is  the  morn,"  said  Sanders,  de- 
cisively. 

Sam'l  glanced  up  with  a  wild  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  Sanders,"  he  cried. 

"  Sam'l  *?  " 

"  Ye  hae  been  a  guid  friend  to  me,  Sanders,  in 
this  sair  affliction." 

"  Nothing  ava,"  said  Sanders  ;  "  dount  men- 
tion'd." 

"But,  Sanders,  ye  canna  deny  but  what  your 
rinnin  oot  o'  the  kirk  that  awfu'  day  was  at  the 
bottom  o'd  a'." 

"  It  was  so,"  said  Sanders,  bravely. 

"  An'  ye  used  to  be  fond  o'  Bell,  Sanders." 

"  I  dinna  deny't." 

"Sanders,  laddie,"  said  Sam'l,  bending  forward 
and  speaking  in  a  wheedling  voice,  "  I  aye  thocht 
it  was  you  she  likeit." 

"  I  had  some  sic  idea  mysel,"  said  Sanders. 

"  Sanders,  I  canna  think  to  pairt  twa  fowk  sae 
weel  suited  to  ane  anither  as  you  an'  Bell." 

"Canna  ye,  Sam'l?" 

"  She  wid  mak  ye  a  guid  wife,  Sanders.  I  hae 
studied  her  weel,  and  she's  a  thrifty,  douce,  clever 
lassie.  Sanders,  there's  no  the  like  o'  her.  Mony 
a  time,  Sanders,  I  hae  said  to  mysel.  There's  a  lass 
ony  man  micht  be  prood  to  tak.  A'body  says  the 
same,  Sanders.  There's  nae  risk  ava,  man :  nane 
to  speak  o'.     Tak  her,  laddie,  tak  her,  Sanders; 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

it's  a  grand  chance,  Sanders.     She's  yours  for  the 
spierin.     I'll  gie  her  up,  Sanders." 

"  Will  ye,  though  ^  "  said  Sanders. 

"  What  d'ye  think  ?  "  asked  Sam'l. 

"If  ye  wid  rayther,"  said  Sanders,  politely. 

"  There's  my  han'  on't,"  said  Sam'l.  "  Bless  ye, 
Sanders;  ye've  been  a  true  frien'  to  me." 

Then  they  shook  hands  for  the  first  time  in  their 
lives;  and  soon  afterwards  Sanders  struck  up  the 
brae  to  T'nowhead. 

Next  morning  Sanders  Elshioner,  who  had  been 
very  busy  the  night  before,  put  on  his  Sabbath 
clothes  and  strolled  up  to  the  manse. 

"  But  —  but  where  is  Sam'l  ?  "  asked  the  minis- 
ter; "I  must  see  himself" 

"  It's  a  new  arrangement,"  said  Sanders. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Sanders  ?  " 

"  Bell's  to  marry  me,"  explained  Sanders. 

"  But  —  but  what  does  Sam'l  say  ?  " 

"  He's  willin',"  said  Sanders. 

"And  Bell?" 

"  She's  willin',  too.     She  prefers't." 

"  It  is  unusual,"  said  the  minister. 

"  It's  a'  richt,"  said  Sanders. 

"  Well,  you  know  best,"  said  the  minister. 

"  You  see  the  hoose  was  taen,  at  ony  rate,"  con- 
tinued Sanders.  "An  I'll  juist  ging  in  til't  in- 
stead o'  Sam'l." 

"  Quite  so." 

146 


COURTING   OF   T'NOWHEAD'S   BELL 

"An'  I  cudna  think  to  disappoint  the  lassie." 

"  Your  sentiments  do  you  credit,  Sanders,"  said 
the  minister ;  "  but  I  hope  you  do  not  enter  upon 
the  blessed  state  of  matrimony  without  full  con- 
sideration of  its  responsibilities.  It  is  a  serious 
business,  marriage." 

"  It's  a'  that,"  said  Sanders,  "  but  I'm  willin'  to 
Stan'  the  risk." 

So,  as  soon  as  it  could  be  done,  Sanders  El- 
shioner  took  to  wife  T'nowhead's  Bell,  and  I  re- 
member seeing  Sam'l  Dickie  trying  to  dance  at 
the  penny  wedding. 

Years  afterwards  it  was  said  in  Thrums  that 
Sam'l  had  treated  Bell  badly,  but  he  was  never 
sure  about  it  himself 

"  It  was  a  near  thing  —  a  michty  near  thing,"  he 
admitted  in  the  square. 

"  They  say,"  some  other  weaver  would  remark, 
"  'at  it  was  you  Bell  liked  best." 

"  I  d'na  kin,"  Sam'l  would  reply,  "  but  there's 
nae  doot  the  lassie  was  fell  fond  o'  me.  Ou,  a 
mere  passin'  fancy's  ye  micht  say." 


H7 


CHAPTER   IX 

DAVIT  LUNAN'S  POLITICAL  REMINISCENCES 

When  an  election-day  comes  round  now,  it  takes 
me  back  to  the  time  of  1832.  I  would  be  eight 
or  ten  year  old  at  the  time.  James  Strachan  was 
at  the  door  by  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  in  his 
Sabbath  clothes,  by  arrangement.  We  was  to  go 
up  to  the  hill  to  see  them  building  the  bonfire. 
Moreover,  there  was  word  that  Mr.  Scrimgour  was 
to  be  there  tossing  pennies,  just  like  at  a  marriage. 
I  was  wakened  before  that  by  my  mother  at  the 
pans  and  bowls.  I  have  always  associated  elec- 
tions since  that  time  with  jelly-making ;  for  just  as 
my  mother  would  fill  the  cups  and  tankers  and 
bowls  with  jelly  to  save  cans,  she  was  emptying 
the  pots  and  pans  to  make  way  for  the  ale  and 
porter.  James  and  me  was  to  help  to  carry  it 
home  from  the  square  —  him  in  the  pitcher  and 
me  in  a  flagon,  because  I  was  silly  for  my  age  and 
not  strong  in  the  arms. 

It  was  a  very  blowy  morning,  though  the  rain 
kept  off,  and  what  part  of  the  bonfire  had  been 
built  already  was  found  scattered  to  the  winds. 

148 


DAVIT    LUNAN'S   REMINISCENCES 

Before  we  rose  a  great  mass  of  folk  was  getting 
the  barrels  and  things  together  again;  but  some 
of  them  was  never  recovered,  and  suspicion  pointed 
to  William  Geddes,  it  being  well  known  that  Wil- 
liam would  not  hesitate  to  carry  off  anything  if  un- 
observed. More  by  token  Chirsty  Lamby  had  seen 
him  rolling  home  a  barrowful  of  firewood  early  in 
the  morning,  her  having  risen  to  hold  cold  water 
in  her  mouth,  being  down  with  the  toothache. 
When  we  got  up  to  the  hill  everybody  was  mak- 
ing for  the  quarry,  which  being  more  sheltered  was 
now  thought  to  be  a  better  place  for  the  bonfire. 
The  masons  had  struck  work,  it  being  a  general 
holiday  in  the  whole  country-side.  There  was  a 
great  commotion  of  people,  all  fine  dressed  and 
mostly  with  glengarry  bonnets ;  and  me  and  James 
was  well  acquaint  with  them,  though  mostly  wea- 
vers and  the  like  and  not  my  father's  equal.  Mr. 
Scrimgour  was  not  there  himself;  but  there  was  a 
small  active  body  in  his  room  as  tossed  the  money 
for  him  fair  enough ;  though  not  so  liberally  as  was 
expected,  being  mostly  ha'pence  where  pennies 
was  looked  for.  Such  was  not  my  father's  opin- 
ion, and  him  and  a  few  others  only  had  a  vote. 
He  considered  it  was  a  waste  of  money  giving  to 
them  that  had  no  vote  and  so  taking  out  of  other 
folks'  mouths,  but  the  little  man  said  it  kept  every- 
body in  good-humour  and  made  Mr.  Scrimgour 
popular.      He  was  an  extraordinary  affable  man 

149 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

and  very  spirity,  running  about  to  waste  no  time 
in  walking,  and  gave  me  a  shilling,  saying  to  me 
to  be  a  truthful  boy  and  tell  my  father.  He  did 
not  give  James  anything,  him  being  an  orphan, 
but  clapped  his  head  and  said  he  was  a  fine  boy. 

The  Captain  was  to  vote  for  the  Bill  if  he  got 
in,  the  which  he  did.  It  was  the  Captain  was  to 
give  the  ale  and  porter  in  the  square  like  a  true 
gentleman.  My  father  gave  a  kind  of  laugh  when 
I  let  him  see  my  shilling,  and  said  he  would  keep 
care  of  it  for  me ;  and  sorry  I  was  I  let  him  get  it, 
me  never  seeing  the  face  of  it  again  to  this  day. 
Me  and  James  was  much  annoyed  with  the  wo- 
men, especially  Kitty  Davie,  always  pushing  in 
when  there  was  tossing,  and  tearing  the  very  ha'- 
pence out  of  our  hands :  us  not  caring  so  much 
about  the  money,  but  humiliated  to  see  women 
mixing  up  in  politics.  By  the  time  the  topmost 
barrel  was  on  the  bonfire  there  was  a  great  smell 
of  whisky  in  the  quarry,  it  being  a  confined  place. 
My  father  had  been  against  the  bonfire  being  in 
the  quarry,  arguing  that  the  wind  on  the  hill 
would  have  carried  off  the  smell  of  the  whisky; 
but  Peter  Tosh  said  they  did  not  want  the  smell 
carried  off;  it  would  be  agreeable  to  the  masons 
for  weeks  to  come.  Except  among  the  women 
there  was  no  fighting  nor  wrangling  at  the  quarry 
but  all  in  fine  spirits. 

I  misremember  now  whether  it  was  Mr.  Scrim- 
150 


DAVIT   LUNAN'S    REMINISCENCES 

gour  or  the  Captain  that  took  the  fancy  to  my  fa- 
ther's pigs ;  but  it  was  this  day,  at  any  rate,  that 
the  Captain  sent  him  the  gamecock.  Whichever 
one  it  was  that  fancied  the  Htter  of  pigs,  nothing 
would  content  him  but  to  buy  them,  which  he  did 
at  thirty  shiUings  each,  being  the  best  bargain  ever 
my  father  made.  Nevertheless  I'm  thinking  he 
was  windier  of  the  cock.  The  Captain,  who  was 
a  local  man  when  not  with  his  regiment,  had  the 
grandest  collection  of  fighting-cocks  in  the  county, 
and  sometimes  came  into  the  town  to  try  them 
against  the  town  cocks.  I  mind  well  the  large 
wicker  cage  in  which  they  were  conveyed  from 
place  to  place,  and  never  without  the  Captain  near 
at  hand.  My  father  had  a  cock  that  beat  all  the 
other  town  cocks  at  the  cock  fight  at  our  school, 
which  was  superintended  by  the  elder  of  the  kirk 
to  see  fair  play ;  but  the  which  died  of  its  wounds 
the  next  day  but  one.  This  was  a  great  grief  to 
my  father,  it  having  been  challenged  to  fight  the 
Captain's  cock.  Therefore  it  was  very  considerate 
of  the  Captain  to  make  my  father  a  present  of  his 
bird;  father,  in  compliment  to  him,  changing  its 
name  from  the  "  Deil "  to  the  "  Captain." 

During  the  forenoon,  and  I  think  until  well  on 
in  the  day,  James  and  me  was  busy  with  the  pit- 
cher and  the  flagon.  The  proceedings  in  the 
square,  however,  was  not  so  well  conducted  as  in 
the  quarry,  many  of  the  folk  there  assembled  show- 

151 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

ing  a  mean  and  grasping  spirit.  The  Captain  had 
given  orders  that  there  was  to  be  no  stint  of  ale 
and  porter,  and  neither  there  was ;  but  much  of  it 
lost  through  hastiness.  Great  barrels  was  hurled 
into  the  middle  of  the  square,  where  the  country 
wives  sat  with  their  eggs  and  butter  on  market- 
day,  and  was  quickly  stove  in  with  an  axe  or  pav- 
ing-stone or  whatever  came  handy.  Sometimes 
they  would  break  into  the  barrel  at  different 
points;  and  then,  when  they  tilted  it  up  to  get 
the  ale  out  at  one  hole,  it  gushed  out  at  the  bot- 
tom till  the  square  was  flooded.  My  mother  was 
fair  disgusted  when  told  by  me  and  James  of  the 
waste  of  good  liquor.  It  is  gospel  truth  I  speak 
when  I  say  I  mind  well  of  seeing  Singer  Davie 
catching  the  porter  in  a  pan  as  it  ran  down  the 
sire,  and,  when  the  pan  was  full  to  overflowing, 
putting  his  mouth  to  the  stream  and  drinking  till 
he  was  as  full  as  the  pan.  Most  of  the  men,  how- 
ever, stuck  to  the  barrels,  the  drink  running  in  the 
street  being  ale  and  porter  mixed,  and  left  it  to  the 
women  and  the  young  folk  to  do  the  carrying.  Susy 
M'Oueen  brought  as  many  pans  as  she  could  collect 
on  a  barrow,  and  was  filling  them  all  with  porter,  re- 
jecting the  ale  ;  but  indignation  was  aroused  against 
her,  and  as  fast  as  she  filled,  the  others  emptied. 

My  father  scorned  to  go  to  the  square  to  drink 
ale  and  porter  with  the  crowd,  having  the  election 
on  his  mind  and  him  to  vote.     Nevertheless  he 

152 


DAVIT   LUNAN'S   REMINISCENCES 

instructed  me  and  James  to  keep  up  a  brisk  trade 
with  the  pans,  and  run  back  across  the  gardens  in 
case  we  met  dishonest  folk  in  the  streets  who 
might  drink  the  ale.  Also,  said  my  father,  we 
was  to  let  the  excesses  of  our  neighbours  be  a 
warning  in  sobriety  to  us ;  enough  being  as  good 
as  a  feast,  except  when  you  can  store  it  up  for  the 
winter.  By  and  by  my  mother  thought  it  was  not 
safe  me  being  in  the  streets  with  so  many  wild 
men  about,  and  would  have  sent  James  himself, 
him  being  an  orphan  and  hardier;  but  this  I  did 
not  like,  but,  running  out,  did  not  come  back  for 
long  enough.  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  music 
was  to  blame  for  firing  the  men's  blood,  and  the 
result  most  disgraceful  fighting  with  no  object  in 
view.  There  was  three  fiddlers  and  two  at  the 
flute,  most  of  them  blind,  but  not  the  less  danger- 
ous on  that  account ;  and  they  kept  the  town  in  a 
ferment,  even  playing  the  countryfolk  home  to  the 
farms,  followed  by  bands  of  townsfolk.  They 
were  a  quarrelsome  set,  the  ploughmen  and  others ; 
and  it  was  generally  admitted  in  the  town  that 
their  overbearing  behaviour  was  responsible  for 
the  fights.  I  mind  them  being  driven  out  of  the 
square,  stones  flying  thick  ;  also  some  stand-up 
fights  with  sticks,  and  others  fair  enough  with  fists. 
The  worst  fight  I  did  not  see.  It  took  place  in  a 
field.  At  first  it  was  only  between  two  who  had 
been  miscalling  one  another ;  but  there  was  many 

153 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

looking  on,  and  when  the  town  man  was  like  get- 
ting the  worst  of  it  the  others  set  to,  and  a  most 
heathenish  tray  with  no  sense  in  it  ensued.  One 
man  had  his  arm  broken.  I  mind  Hobart  the 
bellman  going  about  ringing  his  bell  and  telling 
all  persons  to  get  within  doors ;  but  little  attention 
was  paid  to  him,  it  being  notorious  that  Snecky 
had  had  a  fight  earlier  in  the  day  himself. 

When  James  was  fighting  in  the  field,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  account,  I  had  the  honour  of  dining 
with  the  electors  who  voted  for  the  Captain,  him 
paying  all  expenses.  It  was  a  lucky  accident  my 
mother  sending  me  to  the  town-house,  where  the 
dinner  came  off,  to  try  to  get  my  father  home  at  a 
decent  hour,  me  having  a  remarkable  power  over 
him  when  in  liquor  but  at  no  other  time.  They 
were  very  jolly,  however,  and  insisted  on  my 
drinking  the  Captain's  health  and  eating  more  than 
was  safe.  My  father  got  it  next  day  from  my 
mother  for  this ;  and  so  would  I  myself,  but  it  was 
several  days  before  I  left  my  bed,  completely 
knocked  up  as  I  was  with  the  excitement  and  one 
thing  or  another.  The  bonfire,  which  was  built 
to  celebrate  the  election  of  Mr.  Scrimgour,  was  set 
ablaze,  though  I  did  not  see  it,  in  honour  of  the 
election  of  the  Captain ;  it  being  thought  a  pity 
to  lose  it,  as  no  doubt  it  would  have  been.  That 
is  about  all  I  remember  of  the  celebrated  election 
of  '32  when  the  Reform  Bill  was  passed. 

154 


CHAPTER  X 


A  VERY  OLD  FAMILY 


They  were  a  very  old  family  with  whom  Snecky 
Hobart,  the  bellman,  lodged.  Their  favourite 
dissipation,  when  their  looms  had  come  to  rest, 
was  a  dander  through  the  kirkyard.  They  dressed 
for  it :  the  three  young  ones  in  their  rusty  black ; 
the  patriarch  in  his  old  blue  coat,  velvet  knee- 
breeches,  and  broad  blue  bonnet ;  and  often  of  an 
evening  I  have  met  them  moving  from  grave  to 
grave.  By  this  time  the  old  man  was  nearly 
ninety,  and  the  young  ones  averaged  sixty.  They 
read  out  the  inscriptions  on  the  tombstones  in  a 
solemn  drone,  and  their  father  added  his  reminis- 
cences. He  never  failed  them.  Since  the  begin- 
ning of  the  century  he  had  not  missed  a  funeral, 
and  his  children  felt  that  he  was  a  great  example. 
Sire  and  sons  returned  from  the  cemetery  invigo- 
rated for  their  daily  labours.  If  one  of  them  hap- 
pened to  start  a  dozen  yards  behind  the  others,  he 
never  thought  of  making  up  the  distance.  If  his 
foot  struck  against  a  stone,  he  came  to  a  dead- 
stop  ;  when  he  discovered  that  he  had  stopped,  he 
set  off  again. 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

A  high  wall  shut  off  this  old  family's  house  and 
garden  from  the  clatter  of  Thrums,  a  wall  that 
gave  Snecky  some  trouble  before  he  went  to  live 
within  it.  I  speak  from  personal  knowledge.  One 
spring  morning,  before  the  schoolhouse  was  built, 
I  was  assisting  the  patriarch  to  divest  the  gaunt 
garden  pump  of  its  winter  suit  of  straw.  I  was 
taking  a  drink,  I  remember,  my  palm  over  the 
mouth  of  the  wooden  spout  and  my  mouth  at  the 
gimlet  hole  above,  when  a  leg  appeared  above  the 
corner  of  the  wall  against  which  the  henhouse 
was  built.  Two  hands  followed,  clutching  des- 
perately at  the  uneven  stones.  Then  the  leg 
worked  as  if  it  were  turning  a  grind-stone,  and 
next  moment  Snecky  was  sitting  breathlessly  on 
the  dyke.  From  this  to  the  henhouse,  whose 
roof  was  of  "  divets,"  the  descent  was  compara- 
tively easy,  and  a  slanting  board  allowed  the  dar- 
ing bellman  to  slide  thence  to  the  ground.  He 
had  come  on  business,  and  having  talked  it  over 
slowly  with  the  old  man  he  turned  to  depart. 
Though  he  was  a  genteel  man,  I  heard  him  sigh 
heavily  as,  with  the  remark,  ''Ay,  weel,  I'll  be 
movin'  again,"  he  began  to  rescale  the  wall.  The 
patriarch,  twisted  round  the  pump,  made  no  re- 
ply, so  I  ventured  to  suggest  to  the  bellman  that 
he  might  find  the  gate  easier.  ''  Is  there  a  gate  ?  " 
said  Snecky,  in  surprise  at  the  resources  of  civili- 
zation.    I  pointed  it  out  to  him,  and  he  went  his 

156 


A   VERY    OLD   FAMILY 

way  chuckling.  The  old  man  told  me  that  he 
had  sometimes  wondered  at  Snecky's  mode  of  ap- 
proach, but  it  had  not  struck  him  to  say  anything. 
Afterwards,  when  the  bellman  took  up  his  abode 
there,  they  discussed  the  matter  heavily. 

Hobart  inherited  both  his  bell  and  his  nick- 
name from  his  father,  who  was  not  a  native  of 
Thrums.  He  came  from  some  distant  part  where 
the  people  speak  of  snecking  the  door,  meaning 
shut  it.  In  Thrums  the  word  used  is  steek,  and 
sneck  seemed  to  the  inhabitants  so  droll  and  ri- 
diculous that  Hobart  got  the  name  of  Snecky.  His 
son  left  Thrums  at  the  age  of  ten  for  the  distant 
farm  of  Tirl,  and  did  not  return  until  the  old  bell- 
man's death,  twenty  years  afterwards ;  but  the  first 
remark  he  overheard  on  entering  the  kirkwynd 
was  a  conjecture  flung  across  the  street  by  a  grey- 
haired  crone,  that  he  would  be  "little  Snecky 
come  to  bury  auld  Snecky." 

The  father  had  a  reputation  in  his  day  for  "  cry- 
ing "  crimes  he  was  suspected  of  having  committed 
himself,  but  the  Snecky  I  knew  had  too  high  a 
sense  of  his  own  importance  for  that.  On  great 
occasions,  such  as  the  loss  of  little  Davy  Dundas, 
or  when  a  tattie  roup  had  to  be  cried,  he  was  even 
offensively  inflated;  but  ordinary  announcements^ 
such  as  the  approach  of  a  flying  stationer,  the  roup 
of  a  deceased  weaver's  loom,  or  the  arrival  in 
Thrums  of  a  cart-load  of  fine  "  kebec  "  cheeses,  he 

157 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

treated  as  the  merest  trifles.  I  see  still  the  bent 
legs  of  the  snuffy  old  man  straightening  to  the  tin- 
kle of  his  bell,  and  the  smirk  with  which  he  let 
the  curious  populace  gather  round  him.  In  one 
hand  he  ostentatiously  displayed  the  paper  on 
which  what  he  had  to  cry  was  written,  but,  like 
the  minister,  he  scorned  to  "  read."  With  the 
bell  carefully  tucked  under  his  oxter  he  gave  forth 
his  news  in  a  rasping  voice  that  broke  now  and 
again  into  a  squeal.  Though  Scotch  in  his  un- 
official conversation,  he  was  believed  to  deliver 
himself  on  public  occasions  in  the  finest  English. 
When  trotting  from  place  to  place  with  his  news 
he  carried  his  bell  by  the  tongue  as  cautiously  as 
if  it  were  a  flagon  of  milk. 

Snecky  never  allowed  himself  to  degenerate 
into  a  mere  machine.  His  proclamations  were 
provided  by  those  who  employed  him,  but  his 
soul  was  his  own.  Having  cried  a  potato  roup 
he  would  sometimes  add  a  word  of  warning,  such 
as,  "  I  wudna  advise  ye,  lads,  to  hae  onything  to 
do  wi'  thae  tatties;  they're  diseased."  Once,  just 
before  the  cattle  market,  he  was  sent  round  by  a 
local  laird  to  announce  that  any  drover  found 
taking  the  short  cut  to  the  hill  through  the 
grounds  of  Muckle  Plowy  would  be  prosecuted 
to  the  utmost  limits  of  the  law.  The  people 
were  aghast.  "  Hoots,  lads,"  Snecky  said ;  "  dinna 
fash  yoursels.     It's  juist  a  haver  o'  the  grieve's." 

158 


A   VERY    OLD   FAMILY 

One  of  Hobart's  ways  of  striking  terror  into  evil- 
doers was  to  announce,  when  crying  a  crime,  that 
he  himself  knew  perfectly  well  who  the  culprit 
was.  "  I  see  him  brawly,"  he  would  say,  "  stand- 
ing afore  me,  an'  if  he  disna  instantly  mak  retri- 
bution, I  am  determined  this  very  day  to  mak  a 
public  example  of  him." 

Before  the  time  of  the  Burke  and  Hare  mur- 
ders Snecky's  father  was  sent  round  Thrums  to 
proclaim  the  startling  news  that  a  grave  in  the 
kirkyard  had  been  tampered  with.  The  "  resur- 
rectionist "  scare  was  at  its  height  then,  and  the 
patriarch,  who  was  one  of  the  men  in  Thrums 
paid  to  watch  new  graves  in  the  night-time,  has 
often  told  the  story.  The  town  was  in  a  ferment 
as  the  news  spread,  and  there  were  fierce  suspi. 
cious  men  among  Hobart's  hearers  who  already 
had  the  rifler  of  graves  in  their  eye. 

He  was  a  man  who  worked  for  the  farmers  when 
they  required  an  extra  hand,  and  loafed  about  the 
square  when  they  could  do  without  him.  No  one 
had  a  good  word  for  him,  and  lately  he  had  been 
flush  of  money.  That  was  sufficient.  There  was 
a  rush  of  angry  men  through  the  "pend  "  that  led 
to  his  habitation,  and  he  was  dragged,  panting 
and  terrified,  to  the  kirkyard  before  he  understood 
what  it  all  meant.  To  the  grave  they  hurried 
him,  and  almost  without  a  word  handed  him  a 
spade.     The  whole  town  gathered  round  the  spot 

159 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

—  a  sullen  crowd,  the  women  only  breaking  the 
silence  with  their  sobs,  and  the  children  clinging 
to  their  gowns.  The  suspected  resurrectionist  un- 
derstood what  was  wanted  of  him,  and,  flinging 
off  his  jacket,  began  to  reopen  the  grave.  Pres- 
ently the  spade  struck  upon  wood,  and  by  and  by 
part  of  the  coffin  came  in  view.  That  was  no- 
thing, for  the  resurrectionists  had  a  way  of  break- 
ing the  coffin  at  one  end  and  drawing  out  the 
body  with  tongs.  The  digger  knew  this.  He 
broke  the  boards  with  the  spade  and  revealed  an 
arm.  The  people  convinced,  he  dropped  the  arm 
savagely,  leapt  out  of  the  grave  and  went  his  way, 
leaving  them  to  shovel  back  the  earth  themselves. 
There  was  humour  in  the  old  family  as  well  as 
in  their  lodger.  I  found  this  out  slowly.  They 
used  to  gather  round  their  peat  fire  in  the  even- 
ing, after  the  poultry  had  gone  to  sleep  on  the 
kitchen  rafters,  and  take  off  their  neighbours. 
None  of  them  ever  laughed ;  but  their  neighbours 
did  afford  them  subject  for  gossip,  and  the  old  man 
was  very  sarcastic  over  other  people's  old-fashioned 
ways.  When  one  of  the  family  wanted  to  go  out 
he  did  it  gradually.  He  would  be  sitting  "  into 
the  fire  "  browning  his  corduroy  trousers,  and  he 
would  get  up  slowly.  Then  he  gazed  solemnly 
before  him  for  a  time,  and  after  that,  if  you  watched 
him  narrowly,  you  would  see  that  he  was  really 
moving  to  the  door.    Another  member  of  the  fam- 

160 


A   VERY    OLD   FAMILY 

ily  took  the  vacant  seat  with  the  same  precautions. 
Will'um,  the  eldest,  has  a  gun,  which  customarily 
stands  behind  the  old  eight-day  clock ;  and  he 
takes  it  with  him  to  the  garden  to  shoot  the  black- 
birds. Long  before  Will'um  is  ready  to  let  fly, 
the  blackbirds  have  gone  away ;  and  so  the  gun  is 
never,  never  fired :  but  there  is  a  determined  look 
on  Will'um's  face  when  he  returns  from  the 
garden. 

In  the  stormy  days  of  his  youth  the  old  man 
had  been  a  "  Black  Nib."  The  Black  Nibs  were 
the  persons  who  agitated  against  the  French  war ; 
and  the  public  feeling  against  them  ran  strong  and 
deep.  In  Thrums  the  local  Black  Nibs  were 
burned  in  effigy,  and  whenever  they  put  their 
heads  out  of  doors  they  risked  being  stoned. 
Even  where  the  authorities  were  unprejudiced  they 
were  helpless  to  interfere ;  and  as  a  rule  they  were 
as  bitter  against  the  Black  Nibs  as  the  populace 
themselves.  Once  the  patriarch  was  running 
through  the  street  with  a  score  of  the  enemy  at  his 
heels,  and  the  bailie,  opening  his  window,  shouted 
to  them,  "  Stane  the  Black  Nib  oot  o'  the  toon  I " 

When  the  patriarch  was  a  young  man  he  was  a 
follower  of  pleasure.  This  is  the  one  thing  about 
him  that  his  family  have  never  been  able  to  under- 
stand. A  solemn  stroll  through  the  kirkyard  was 
not  sufficient  relaxation  in  those  riotous  times,  after 
a  hard  day  at  the  loom ;  and  he  rarely  lost  a  chance 

161 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

of  going  to  see  a  man  hanged.  There  was  a  good 
deal  of  hanging  in  those  days ;  and  yet  the  author- 
ities had  an  ugly  way  of  reprieving  condemned 
men  on  whom  the  sightseers  had  been  counting. 
An  air  of  gloom  would  gather  on  my  old  friend's 
countenance  when  he  told  how  he  and  his  contem- 
poraries in  Thrums  trudged  every  Saturday  for  six 
weeks  to  the  county  town,  many  miles  distant,  to 
witness  the  execution  of  some  criminal  in  whom 
they  had  a  local  interest,  and  who,  after  disappoint- 
ing them  again  and  again,  was  said  to  have  been 
bought  off  by  a  friend.  His  crime  had  been  stolen 
entrance  into  a  house  in  Thrums  by  the  chimney, 
with  intent  to  rob ;  and,  though  this  old-fashioned 
family  did  not  see  it,  not  the  least  noticeable  inci- 
dent in  the  scrimmage  that  followed  was  the  pru- 
dence of  the  canny  housewife.  When  she  saw  the 
legs  coming  down  the  lum,  she  rushed  to  the  kail- 
pot  which  was  on  the  fire  and  put  on  the  lid.  She 
confessed  that  this  was  not  done  to  prevent  the 
visitor's  scalding  himself,  but  to  save  the  broth. 

The  old  man  was  repeated  in  his  three  sons. 
They  told  his  stories  precisely  as  he  did  himself, 
taking  as  long  in  the  telling,  and  making  the 
points  in  exactly  the  same  way.  By  and  by  they 
will  come  to  think  that  they  themselves  were  of 
those  past  times.  Already  the  young  ones  look 
like  contemporaries  of  their  father. 


162 


CHAPTER  XI 

LITTLE  RATHIE'S  "BURAL" 

Devout-under-Difficulties  would  have  been  the 
name  of  Lang  Tammas  had  he  been  of  Covenant- 
ing times.  So  I  thought  one  wintry  afternoon, 
years  before  I  went  to  the  schoolhouse,  when  he 
dropped  in  to  ask  the  pleasure  of  my  company  to 
the  farmer  of  Little  Rathie's  "  bural."  As  a  good 
Auld  Licht,  Tammas  reserved  his  swallow-tail  coat 
and  "  lum  hat "  (chimney  pot)  for  the  kirk  and 
funerals ;  but  the  coat  would  have  flapped  villain- 
ously, to  Tammas's  eternal  ignominy,  had  he  for 
one  rash  moment  relaxed  his  hold  on  the  bottom 
button,  and  it  was  only  by  walking  sideways,  as 
horses  sometimes  try  to  do,  that  the  hat  could  be 
kept  at  the  angle  of  decorum.  Let  it  not  be 
thought  that  Tammas  had  asked  me  to  Little 
Rathie's  funeral  on  his  own  responsibility.  Burals 
were  among  the  few  events  to  break  the  monotony 
of  an  Auld  Licht  winter,  and  invitations  were  as 
much  sought  after  as  cards  to  my  lady's  dances  in 
the  south.  This  had  been  a  fair  average  season 
for  Tammas,  though  of  his  four  burials  one  had 

163 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

been  a  bairn's  —  a  mere  bagatelle ;  but  had  it  not 
been  for  the  death  of  Little  Rathie  I  would  proba- 
bly not  have  been  out  that  year  at  all. 

The  small  farm  of  Little  Rathie  lies  two  miles 
from  Thrums,  and  Tammas  and  I  trudged  man- 
fully through  the  snow,  adding  to  our  numbers  as 
we  went.  The  dress  of  none  differed  materially 
from  the  precentor's,  and  the  general  effect  was  of 
septuagenarians  in  each  other's  best  clothes,  though 
living  in  low-roofed  houses  had  bent  most  of  them 
before  their  time.  By  a  rearrangement  of  gar- 
ments, such  as  making  Tammas  change  coat,  hat, 
and  trousers  with  Cragiebuckle,  Silva  McQueen, 
and  Sam'l  Wilkie  respectively,  a  dexterous  tailor 
might  perhaps  have  supplied  each  with  a  "  fit." 
The  talk  was  chiefly  of  Little  Rathie,  and  some- 
times threatened  to  become  animated,  when  an- 
other mourner  would  fall  in  and  restore  the  more 
fitting  gloom. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  the  new  comer  would  say,  by  way  of 
responding  to  the  sober  salutation,  "Ay,  Johnny." 
Then  there  was  silence,  but  for  the  ''gluck"  with 
which  we  lifted  our  feet  from  the  slush. 

"  So  Little  Rathie's  been  ta'en  awa',"  Johnny 
would  venture  to  say,  by  and  by. 

"  He's  gone,  Johnny ;  ay,  man,  he  is  so." 

"  Death  must  come  to  all,"  some  one  would 
waken  up  to  murmur. 

"Ay,"  Lang  Tammas  would  reply,  putting  on 

.64 


LITTLE   RATHIE'S    "BURAL" 

the  coping-stone,  "  in  the  morning  we  are  strong, 
and  in  the  evening  we  are  cut  down." 

"We  are  so,  Tammas;  ou  ay,  we  are  so;  we're 
here  the  wan  day  an'  gone  the  neist." 

"Little  Rathie  wasna  a  crittur  I  took  till;  no, 
I  canna  say  he  was,"  said  Bowie  Haggart,  so  called 
because  his  legs  described  a  parabola,  "but  he 
maks  a  very  creeditable  corp  (corpse).  I  will  say 
that  for  him.  It's  wonderfu'  hoo  death  improves 
a  body.  Ye  cudna  hae  said  as  Little  Rathie  was 
a  weelfaured  man  when  he  was  i'  the  flesh." 

Bowie  was  the  wright,  and  attended  burials  in 
his  official  capacity.  He  had  the  gift  of  words  to 
an  uncommon  degree,  and  I  do  not  forget  his 
crushing  blow  at  the  reputation  of  the  poet  Burns, 
as  delivered  under  the  auspices  of  the  Thrums 
Literary  Society.  "  I  am  of  opeenion,"  said  Bowie, 
"  that  the  works  of  Burns  is  of  an  immoral  ten- 
dency. I  have  not  read  them  myself,  but  such  is 
my  opeenion." 

"  He  was  a  queer  stock,  Little  Rathie,  michty 
queer,"  said  Tammas  Haggart,  Bowie's  brother, 
who  was  a  queer  stock  himself,  but  was  not  aware 
of  it;  "but,  ou,  I'm  thinkin'  the  wife  had  some- 
thing to  do  wi't.  She  was  ill  to  manage,  an'  Little 
Rathie  hadna  the  way  o'  the  women.  He  hadna 
the  knack  o'  managin'  them  's  ye  micht  say  —  no. 
Little  Rathie  hadna  the  knack." 

"  They're   kittle   cattle,  the   women,"  said   the 

165 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

farmer  of  Craigiebuckle — son  of  the  Craigiebuckle 
mentioned  elsewhere  —  a  little  gloomily.  "I've 
often  thocht  maiterimony  is  no  onlike  the  lucky 
bags  th'  auld  wifies  has  at  the  muckly.  There's 
prizes  an'  blanks  baith  inside,  but,  losh,  ye're  far 
frae  sure  what  ye'U  draw  oot  when  ye  put  in  yer 
han'." 

" Ou,  weel,"  said  Tammas,  complacently, "  there's 
truth  in  what  ye  say,  but  the  women  can  be  man- 
aged if  we  have  the  knack." 

"  Some  o'  them,"  said  Cragiebuckle,  woefully. 

"  Ye  had  yer  wark  wi'  the  wife  yersel,  Tammas, 
so  ye  had,"  observed  Lang  Tammas,  unbending  to 
suit  his  company. 

"  Ye're  speakin'  aboot  the  bit  wife's  bural,"  said 
Tammas  Haggart,  with  a  chuckle,  "ay,  ay,  that 
brocht  her  to  reason." 

Without  much  pressure  Haggart  retold  a  story 
known  to  the  majority  of  his  hearers.  He  had  not 
the  "  knack  "  of  managing  women  apparently  when 
he  married,  for  he  and  his  gipsy  wife  "  agreed  ill 
thegither  "  at  first.  Once  Chirsty  left  him  and  took 
up  her  abode  in  a  house  just  across  the  wynd.  In- 
stead of  routing  her  out,  Tammas,  without  taking 
any  one  into  his  confidence,  determined  to  treat 
Chirsty  as  dead,  and  celebrate  her  decease  in  a 
"  lyke  wake  "  —  a  last  wake.  These  wakes  were 
very  general  in  Thrums  in  the  old  days,  though 
they  had  ceased  to  be  common  by  the  date  of 

166 


LITTLE   RATHIE'S   "BURAL" 

Little  Rathie's  death.  For  three  days  before  the 
burial  the  friends  and  neighbours  of  the  mourners 
were  invited  into  the  house  to  partake  of  food  and 
drink  by  the  side  of  the  corpse.  The  dead  lay  on 
chairs  covered  with  a  white  sheet.  Dirges  were 
sung,  and  the  deceased  was  extolled,  but  when 
night  came  the  lights  were  extinguished,  and  the 
corpse  was  left  alone.  On  the  morning  of  the 
funeral  tables  were  spread  with  a  white  cloth  out- 
side the  house,  and  food  and  drink  were  placed 
upon  them.  No  neighbour  could  pass  the  tables 
without  paying  his  respects  to  the  dead ;  and  even 
when  the  house  was  in  a  busy,  narrow  thorough- 
fare, this  part  of  the  ceremony  was  never  omitted. 
Tammas  did  not  give  Chirsty  a  wake  inside  the 
house;  but  one  Friday  morning  —  it  was  market- 
day,  and  the  square  was  consequently  full  —  it 
went  through  the  town  that  the  tables  were  spread 
before  his  door.  Young  and  old  collected,  wander- 
ing round  the  house,  and  Tammas  stood  at  the 
tables  in  his  blacks  inviting  every  one  to  eat  and 
drink.  He  was  pressed  to  tell  what  it  meant ;  but 
nothing  could  be  got  from  him  except  that  his 
wife  was  dead.  At  times  he  pressed  his  hands  to 
his  heart,  and  then  he  would  make  wry  faces,  try- 
ing hard  to  cry.  Chirsty  watched  from  a  window 
across  the  street,  until  she  perhaps  began  to  fear 
that  she  really  was  dead.  Unable  to  stand  it  any 
longer,  she  rushed  out  into  her  husband's  arms,  and 

167 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

shortly  afterwards  she  could  have  been  seen  dis- 
mantling the  tables. 

"  She's  gone  this  fower  year,"  Tammas  said, 
when  he  had  finished  his  story,  "  but  up  to  the 
end  I  had  no  more  trouble  wi'  Chirsty.  No,  I 
had  the  knack  o'  her." 

"I've  heard  tell,  though,"  said  the  sceptical 
Craigiebuckle,  "  as  Chirsty  only  cam  back  to  ye 
because  she  cudna  bear  to  see  the  fowk  makkin' 
sae  free  wi'  the  whisky." 

"  I  mind  hoo  she  bottled  it  up  at  ance,  and  drove 
the  laddies  awa',"  said  Bowie,  "  an'  I  hae  seen  her 
after  that,  Tammas,  giein'  ye  up  yer  fut  an'  you  no 
sayin'  a  word." 

"Ou,  ay,"  said  the  wife-tamer,  in  the  tone  of  a  man 
who  could  afford  to  be  generous  in  trifles,  "  women 
maun  talk,  an'  a  man  hasna  aye  time  to  conterdick 
them,  but  frae  that  day  I  had  the  knack  o'  Chirsty." 

"Donal  Elshioner's  was  a  very  seemilar  case," 
broke  in  Snecky  Hobart,  shrilly.  "  Maist  o'  ye'll 
mind  'at  Donal  was  michty  plague't  wi'  a  drucken 
wife.  Ay,  weel,  wan  day  Bowie's  man  was  car- 
ryin'  a  cofBn  past  Donal's  door,  and  Donal  an' 
the  wife  was  there.  Says  Donal,  '  Put  doon  yer 
coffin,  my  man,  an'  tell's  wha  it's  for.'  The  laddie 
rests  the  coffin  on  its  end,  an'  says  he,  'It's  for 
Davie  Fairbrother's  guid-wife.'  'Ay,  then,'  says 
Donal,  'tak  it  awa',  tak  it  awa'  to  Davie,  an'  tell 
'im  as  ye  kin  a  man  wi'  a  wife  'at  wid  be  glad  to 

168 


LITTLE   RATHIE'S   -BURAL" 

neifer  (exchange)  wi'  him.'     Man,  that  terrified 
Donal's  wife  ;  it  did  so." 

As  we  delved  up  the  twisting  road  between  two 
fields,  that  leads  to  the  farm  of  Little  Rathie,  the 
talk  became  less  general,  and  another  mourner  who 
joined  us  there  was  told  that  the  farmer  was  gone. 

"  We  must  all  fade  as  a  leaf,"  said  Lang  Tam- 
mas. 

"  So  we  maun,  so  we  maun,"  admitted  the  new- 
comer. "  They  say,"  he  added,  solemnly,  "  as  Lit- 
tle Rathie  has  left  a  full  teapot." 

The  reference  was  to  the  safe  in  which  the  old 
people  in  the  district  stored  their  gains. 

"  He  was  thrifty,"  said  Tammas  Haggart,  "  an' 
shrewd,  too,  was  Little  Rathie.  I  mind  Mr.  Dish- 
art  admonishin'  him  for  no  attendin'  a  special  wea- 
ther service  i'  the  kirk,  when  Finny  an'  Lintool, 
the  twa  adjoinin'  farmers,  baith  attendit.  '  Ou,'  says 
Little  Rathie,  '  I  thocht  to  mysel,  thinks  I,  if  they 
get  rain  for  prayin'  for't  on  Finny  an'  Lintool,  we're 
bound  to  get  the  benefit  o't  on  Little  Rathie.' " 

"  Tod,"  said  Snecky,  "  there's  some  sense  in  that ; 
an'  what  says  the  minister  ?  " 

"  I  d'na  kin  what  he  said,"  admitted  Haggart ; 
"  but  he  took  Little  Rathie  up  to  the  manse,  an'  if 
ever  I  saw  a  man  lookin'  sma',  it  was  Little  Rathie 
when  he  cam  oot." 

The  deceased  had  left  behind  him  a  daughter 
(herself  now  known  as  Little  Rathie),  quite  capa- 

169 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

ble  of  attending  to  the  ramshackle  "  but  and  ben  " ; 
and  I  remember  how  she  nipped  ofFTammas's  con- 
solations to  go  out  and  feed  the  hens.  To  the 
number  of  about  twenty  we  assembled  round  the 
end  of  the  house  to  escape  the  bitter  wind,  and 
here  I  lost  the  precentor,  who,  as  an  Auld  Licht 
elder,  joined  the  chief  mourners  inside.  The  post 
of  distinction  at  a  funeral  is  near  the  coffin ;  but  it 
is  not  given  to  every  one  to  be  a  relative  of  the 
deceased,  and  there  is  always  much  competition 
and  genteelly  concealed  disappointment  over  the 
few  open  vacancies.  The  window  of  the  room 
was  decently  veiled,  but  the  mourners  outside 
knew  what  was  happening  within,  and  that  it  was 
not  all  prayer,  neither  mourning.  A  few  of  the 
more  reverent  uncovered  their  heads  at  intervals ; 
but  it  would  be  idle  to  deny  that  there  was  a  feel- 
ing that  Little  Rathie's  daughter  was  favouring 
Tammas  and  others  somewhat  invidiously.  In- 
deed, Robbie  Gibruth  did  not  scruple  to  remark 
that  she  had  made  "  an  inauspeecious  beginning." 
Tammas  Haggart,  who  was  melancholy  when  not 
sarcastic,  though  he  brightened  up  wonderfully  at 
funerals,  reminded  Robbie  that  disappointment  is 
the  lot  of  man  on  his  earthly  pilgrimage  ;  but  Hag- 
gart knew  who  were  to  be  invited  back  after  the 
burial  to  the  farm,  and  was  inclined  to  make  much 
of  his  position.  The  secret  would  doubtless  have 
been  wormed  from  him  had  not  public  attention 

170 


LITTLE   RATHIE'S   "BURAL" 

been  directed  into  another  channel.  A  prayer  was 
certainly  being  offered  up  inside;  but  the  voice 
was  not  the  voice  of  the  minister. 

Lang  Tammas  told  me  afterwards  that  it  had 
seemed  at  one  time  "  very  queistionable  "  whether 
Little  Rathie  would  be  buried  that  day  at  all.  The 
incomprehensible  absence  of  Mr.  Dishart  (after- 
wards satisfactorily  explained)  had  raised  the  un- 
expected question  of  the  legality  of  a  burial  in  a 
case  where  the  minister  had  not  prayed  over  the 
"  Corp."  There  had  even  been  an  indulgence  in 
hot  words,  and  the  Reverend  Alexander  Kewans, 
a  "  stickit  minister,"  but  not  of  the  Auld  Licht 
persuasion,  had  withdrawn  in  dudgeon  on  hearing 
Tammas  asked  to  conduct  the  ceremony  instead 
of  himself  But,  great  as  Tammas  was  on  religi- 
ous questions,  a  pillar  of  the  Auld  Licht  kirk,  the 
Shorter  Catechism  at  his  finger-ends,  a  sad  want  of 
words  at  the  very  time  when  he  needed  them  most, 
incapacitated  him  for  prayer  in  public,  and  it  was 
providential  that  Bowie  proved  himself  a  man  of 
parts.  But  Tammas  tells  me  that  the  wright 
grossly  abused  his  position,  by  praying  at  such 
length  that  Craigiebuckle  fell  asleep,  and  the  mis- 
tress had  to  rise  and  hang  the  pot  on  the  fire  higher 
up  the  joist,  lest  its  contents  should  burn  before 
the  return  from  the  funeral.  Loury  grew  the  sky, 
and  more  and  more  anxious  the  face  of  Little  Ra- 
thie's  daughter,  and  still  Bowie  prayed  on.     Had 

171 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

it  not  been  for  the  impatience  of  the  precentor  and 
the  grumbling  of  the  mourners  outside,  there  is  no 
saying  when  the  remains  would  have  been  Hfted 
through  the  "  bole,"  or  little  window. 

Hearses  had  hardly  come  in  at  this  time  and 
the  coffin  was  carried  by  the  mourners  on  long 
stakes.  The  straggling  procession  of  pedestrians 
behind  wound  its  slow  way  in  the  waning  light  to 
the  kirkyard,  showing  startlingly  black  against  the 
dazzling  snow;  and  it  was  not  until  the  earth 
rattled  on  the  coffin-lid  that  Little  Rathie's  nearest 
male  relative  seemed  to  remember  his  last  mourn- 
ful duty  to  the  dead.  Sidling  up  to  the  favoured 
mourners,  he  remarked  casually  and  in  the  most 
emotionless  tone  he  could  assume :  "  They're  ex- 
pec'in  ye  to  stap  doon  the  length  o'  Little  Rathie 
noo.  Aye,  aye,  he's  gone.  Na,  na,  nae  refoosal, 
Da-avit ;  ye  was  aye  a  guid  friend  till  him,  an'  it's 
onything  a  body  can  do  for  him  noo." 

Though  the  uninvited  slunk  away  sorrowfully, 
the  entertainment  provided  at  Auld  Licht  houses 
of  mourning  was  characteristic  of  a  stern  and  sober 
sect.  They  got  to  eat  and  to  drink  to  the  extent, 
as  a  rule,  of  a  "  lippy  "  of  shortbread  and  a  "  brew  " 
of  toddy;  but  open  Bibles  lay  on  the  table,  and 
the  eyes  of  each  were  on  his  neighbours  to  catch 
them  transgressing,  and  offer  up  a  prayer  for  them 
on  the  spot.  Ay  me  I  there  is  no  Bowie  nowadays 
to  fill  an  absent  minister's  shoes. 

172 


CHAPTER    XII 


A  LITERARY  CLUB 


The  ministers  in  the  town  did  not  hold  with  Ht- 
erature.  When  the  most  notorious  of  the  clubs 
met  in  the  town-house  under  the  presidentship  of 
Gavin  Ogilvy,  who  was  no  better  than  a  poacher, 
and  was  troubled  in  his  mind  because  writers 
called  Pope  a  poet,  there  was  frequently  a  wrangle 
over  the  question.  Is  literature  necessarily  im- 
moral? It  was  a  fighting  club,  and  on  Friday 
nights  the  few  respectable,  god-fearing  members 
dandered  to  the  town-house,  as  if  merely  curious 
to  have  another  look  at  the  building.  If  Lang 
Tammas,  who  was  dead  against  letters,  was  in 
sight  they  wandered  off,  but  when  there  were  no 
spies  abroad  they  slunk  up  the  stair.  The  atten- 
dance was  greatest  on  dark  nights,  though  Gavin 
himself  and  some  other  characters  would  have 
marched  straight  to  the  meeting  in  broad  day- 
light. Tammas  Haggart,  who  did  not  think  much 
of  Milton's  devil,  had  married  a  gypsy  woman  for 
an  experiment,  and  the  Coat  of  Many  Colours  did 

173 


AULD    LIGHT    IDYLLS 

not  know  where  his  wife  was.  As  a  rule,  how- 
ever, the  members  were  wild  bachelors.  When 
they  married  they  had  to  settle  down. 

Gavin's  essay  on  Will'um  Pitt,  the  Father  of 
the  Taxes,  led  to  the  club's  being  bundled  out  of 
the  town-house,  where  people  said  it  should  never 
have  been  allowed  to  meet.  There  was  a  terrible 
town  when  Tammas  Haggart  then  disclosed  the 
secret  of  Mr.  Byars's  supposed  approval  of  the  club. 
Mr.  Byars  was  the  Auld  Licht  minister  whom 
Mr.  Dishart  succeeded,  and  it  was  well  known 
that  he  had  advised  the  authorities  to  grant  the 
use  of  the  little  town-house  to  the  club  on  Friday 
evenings.  As  he  solemnly  warned  his  congregar 
tion  against  attending  the  meetings  the  position 
he  had  taken  up  created  talk,  and  Lang  Tammas 
called  at  the  manse  with  Sanders  Whamond  to 
remonstrate.  The  minister,  however,  harangued 
them  on  their  sinfulness  in  daring  to  question  the 
like  of  him,  and  they  had  to  retire  vanquished 
though  dissatisfied.  Then  came  the  disclosures 
of  Tammas  Haggart,  who  was  never  properly  se- 
cured by  the  Auld  Lichts  until  Mr.  Dishart  took 
him  in  hand.  It  was  Tammas  who  wrote  anony- 
mous letters  to  Mr.  Byars  about  the  scarlet  woman, 
and,  strange  to  say,  this  led  to  the  club's  being  al- 
lowed to  meet  in  the  town-house.  The  minister, 
after  many  days,  discovered  who  his  correspondent 
was,  and  succeeded  in  inveigling  the  stone-breaker 

174 


A   LITERARY   CLUB 

to  the  manse.  There,  with  the  door  snibbed,  he 
opened  out  on  Tammas,  who,  after  his  usual  man- 
ner when  hard  pressed,  pretended  to  be  deaf.  This 
sudden  fit  of  deafness  so  exasperated  the  minister 
that  he  flung  a  book  at  Tammas.  The  scene  that 
followed  was  one  that  few  Auld  Licht  manses  can 
have  witnessed.  According  to  Tammas  the  book 
had  hardly  reached  the  floor  when  the  minister 
turned  white.  Tammas  picked  up  the  missile.  It 
was  a  Bible.  The  two  men  looked  at  each  other. 
Beneath  the  window  Mr.  Byars's  children  were 
prattling.  His  wife  was  moving  about  in  the  next 
room,  little  thinking  what  had  happened.  The 
minister  held  out  his  hand  for  the  Bible,  but  Tam- 
mas shook  his  head,  and  then  Mr.  Byars  shrank 
into  a  chair.  Finally,  it  was  arranged  that  if 
Tammas  kept  the  affair  to  himself  the  minister 
would  say  a  good  word  to  the  Bailie  about  the 
literary  club.  After  that  the  stone-breaker  used  to 
go  from  house  to  house,  twisting  his  mouth  to  the 
side  and  remarking  that  he  could  tell  such  a  tale 
of  Mr.  Byars  as  would  lead  to  a  split  in  the  kirk. 
When  the  town-house  was  locked  on  the  club 
Tammas  spoke  out,  but  though  the  scandal  ran 
from  door  to  door,  as  I  have  seen  a  pig  in  a  fluster 
do,  the  minister  did  not  lose  his  place.  Tammas 
preserved  the  Bible,  and  showed  it  complacently 
to  visitors  as  the  present  he  got  from  Mr.  Byars. 
The  minister  knew  this,  and  it  turned  his  temper 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

sour.  Tammas's  proud  moments,  after  that,  were 
when  he  passed  the  minister. 

Driven  from  the  town-house,  Hterature  found  a 
table  with  forms  round  it  in  a  tavern  hard  by, 
where  the  club,  lopped  of  its  most  respectable 
members,  kept  the  blinds  down  and  talked  openly 
of  Shakspeare.  It  was  a  low-roofed  room,  with 
pieces  of  lime  hanging  from  the  ceiling  and  peel- 
ing walls.  The  floor  had  a  slope  that  tended  to 
fling  the  debater  forward,  and  its  boards,  lying 
loose  on  an  uneven  foundation,  rose  and  looked  at 
you  as  you  crossed  the  room.  In  winter,  when  the 
meetings  were  held  regularly  every  fortnight,  a  fire 
of  peat,  sod,  and  dross  lit  up  the  curious  company 
who  sat  round  the  table  shaking  their  heads  over 
Shelley's  mysticism,  or  requiring  to  be  called  to 
order  because  they  would  not  wait  their  turn  to 
deny  an  essayist's  assertion  that  Berkeley's  style 
was  superior  to  David  Hume's.  Davit  Hume, 
they  said,  and  Watty  Scott.  Burns  was  simply 
referred  to  as  Rob  or  Robbie. 

There  was  little  drinking  at  these  meetings,  for 
the  members  knew  what  they  were  talking  about, 
and  your  mind  had  to  gallop  to  keep  up  with  the 
flow  of  reasoning.  Thrums  is  rather  a  remarkable 
town.  There  are  scores  and  scores  of  houses  in  it 
that  have  sent  their  sons  to  college  (by  what  a 
struggle !),  some  to  make  their  way  to  the  front  in 
their  professions,  and  others,  perhaps,  despite  their 

176 


A   LITERARY   CLUB 

broadcloth,  never  to  be  a  patch  on  their  parents. 
In  that  Hterary  club  there  were  men  of  a  reading 
so  wide  and  catholic  that  it  might  put  some  grad- 
uates of  the  universities  to  shame,  and  of  an  intel- 
lect so  keen  that  had  it  not  had  a  crook  in  it  their 
fame  would  have  crossed  the  county.  Most  of 
them  had  but  a  thread-bare  existence,  for  you 
weave  slowly  with  a  Wordsworth  open  before 
you,  and  some  were  strange  Bohemians  (which 
does  not  do  in  Thrums),  yet  others  wandered  into 
the  world  and  compelled  it  to  recognize  them. 
There  is  a  London  barrister  whose  father  belonged 
to  the  club.  Not  many  years  ago  a  man  died  on 
the  staff  of  the  ^imcs,  who,  when  he  was  a  weaver 
near  Thrums,  was  one  of  the  club's  prominent 
members.  He  taught  himself  shorthand  by  the 
light  of  a  cruizey,  and  got  a  post  on  a  Perth  paper, 
afterwards  on  the  Scotsman  and  the  Witness,  and 
finally  on  the  '^iines.  Several  other  men  of  his 
type  had  a  history  worth  reading,  but  it  is  not  for 
me  to  write.  Yet  I  may  say  that  there  is  still  at 
least  one  of  the  original  members  of  the  club  left 
behind  in  Thrums  to  whom  some  of  the  literary 
dandies  might  lift  their  hats. 

Gavin  Ogilvy  I  only  knew  as  a  weaver  and  a 
poacher;  a  lank,  long-armed  man,  much  bent  from 
crouching  in  ditches  whence  he  watched  his  snares. 
To  the  young  he  was  a  romantic  figure,  because 
they  saw  him  frequently  in  the  fields  with  his  call- 

177 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

birds  tempting  siskins,  yellow  yites,  and  linties  to 
twigs  which  he  had  previously  smeared  with  lime. 
He  made  the  lime  from  the  tough  roots  of  holly; 
sometimes  from  linseed  oil,  which  is  boiled  until 
thick,  when  it  is  taken  out  of  the  pot  and  drawn 
and  stretched  with  the  hands  like  elastic.  Gavin 
was  also  a  famous  hare-snarer  at  a  time  when  the 
ploughman  looked  upon  this  form  of  poaching  as 
his  perquisite.  The  snare  was  of  wire,  so  con- 
structed that  the  hare  entangled  itself  the  more 
when  trying  to  escape,  and  it  was  placed  across 
the  little  roads  through  the  fields  to  which  hares 
confine  themselves,  with  a  heavy  stone  attached  to 
it  by  a  string.  Once  Gavin  caught  a  toad  (fox) 
instead  of  a  hare,  and  did  not  discover  his  mistake 
until  it  had  him  by  the  teeth.  He  was  not  able  to 
weave  for  two  months.  The  grouse-netting  was 
more  lucrative  and  more  exciting,  and  women 
engaged  in  it  with  their  husbands.  It  is  told 
of  Gavin  that  he  was  on  one  occasion  chased 
by  a  gamekeeper  over  moor  and  hill  for  twenty 
miles,  and  that  by  and  by  when  the  one  sank 
down  exhausted  so  did  the  other.  They  would 
sit  fifty  yards  apart,  glaring  at  each  other.  The 
poacher  eventually  escaped.  This,  curious  as  it 
may  seem,  is  the  man  whose  eloquence  at  the 
club  has  not  been  forgotten  in  fifty  years.  "  Thus 
did  he  stand,"  I  have  been  told  recently,  "  ex- 
claiming in  language  sublime  that  the  soul  shall 

178 


A    LITERARY   CLUB 

bloom  in  immortal  youth  through  the  ruin  and 
wrack  of  time." 

Another  member  read  to  the  club  an  account  of 
his  journey  to  Lochnagar,  which  was  afterwards 
published  in  Chambers's  Jonrnal.  He  was  cele- 
brated for  his  descriptions  of  scenery,  and  was  not 
the  only  member  of  the  club  whose  essays  got 
into  print.  More  memorable  perhaps  was  an  itin- 
erant match-seller  known  to  Thrums  and  the  sur- 
rounding towns  as  the  literary  spunk-seller.  He 
was  a  wizened,  shivering  old  man,  often  bare- 
footed, wearing  at  the  best  a  thin  ragged  coat  that 
had  been  black  but  was  green-brown  with  age, 
and  he  made  his  spunks  as  well  as  sold  them.  He 
brought  Bacon  and  Adam  Smith  into  Thrums, 
and  he  loved  to  recite  long  screeds  from  Spenser, 
with  a  running  commentary  on  the  versification 
and  the  luxuriance  of  the  diction.  Of  Jamie's 
death  I  do  not  care  to  write.  He  went  without 
many  a  dinner  in  order  to  buy  a  book. 

The  Coat  of  Many  Colours  and  Silva  Robbie 
were  two  street  preachers  who  gave  the  Thrums 
ministers  some  work.  They  occasionally  appeared 
at  the  club.  The  Coat  of  Many  Colours  was  so 
called  because  he  wore  a  garment  consisting  of 
patches  of  cloth  of  various  colours  sewed  together. 
It  hung  down  to  his  heels.  He  may  have  been 
cracked  rather  than  inspired,  but  he  was  a  power 
in  the  square  where  he  preached,  the  women  de- 

179 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

daring  that  he  was  gifted  by  God.  An  awe  filled 
even  the  men,  when  he  admonished  them  for  us- 
ing strong  language,  for  at  such  a  time  he  would 
remind  them  of  the  woe  which  fell  upon  Tibbie 
Mason.  Tibbie  had  been  notorious  in  her  day  for 
evil-speaking,  especially  for  her  free  use  of  the 
word  handless,  which  she  flung  a  hundred  times 
in  a  week  at  her  man,  and  even  at  her  old  mother. 
Her  punishment  was  to  have  a  son  born  without 
hands.  The  Coat  of  Many  Colours  also  told  of 
the  liar  who  exclaimed,  "  If  this  is  not  gospel 
true  may  I  stand  here  for  ever,"  and  who  is  stand- 
ing on  that  spot  still,  only  nobody  knows  where 
it  is.  George  Wishart  was  the  Coat's  hero,  and 
often  he  has  told  in  the  Square  how  Wishart  saved 
Dundee.  It  was  the  time  when  the  plague  lay 
over  Scotland,  and  in  Dundee  they  saw  it  ap- 
proaching from  the  West  in  the  form  of  a  great 
black  cloud.  They  fell  on  their  knees  and  prayed, 
crying  to  the  cloud  to  pass  them  by,  and  while 
they  prayed  it  came  nearer.  Then  they  looked 
around  for  the  most  holy  man  among  them,  to  in- 
tervene with  God  on  their  behalf  All  eyes  turned 
to  George  Wishart,  and  he  stood  up,  stretching 
his  arms  to  the  cloud  and  prayed,  and  it  rolled 
back.  Thus  Dundee  was  saved  from  the  plague, 
but  when  Wishart  ended  his  prayer  he  was  alone, 
for  the  people  had  all  returned  to  their  homes. 
Less  of  a  genuine  man  than  the  Coat  of  Many 

180 


A    LITERARY    CLUB 

Colours  was  Silva  Robbie,  who  had  horrid  fits  of 
laughing  in  the  middle  of  his  prayers,  and  even 
fell  in  a  paroxysm  of  laughter  from  the  chair  on 
which  he  stood.  In  the  club  he  said  things  not  to 
be  borne,  though  logical  up  to  a  certain  point. 

Tammas  Haggart  was  the  most  sarcastic  mem- 
ber of  the  club,  being  celebrated  for  his  sarcasm 
far  and  wide.  It  was  a  remarkable  thing  about 
him,  often  spoken  of,  that  if  you  went  to  Tam- 
mas with  a  stranger  and  asked  him  to  say  a  sarcas- 
tic thing  that  the  man  might  take  away  as  a 
specimen,  he  could  not  do  it.  "  Na,  na,"  Tam- 
mas would  say,  after  a  few  trials,  referring  to  sar- 
casm, "  she's  no  a  critter  to  force.  Ye  maun  lat 
her  tak  her  ain  time.  Sometimes  she's  dry  like  the 
pump,  an'  syne,  again,  oot  she  comes  in  a  gush." 
The  most  sarcastic  thing  the  stone-breaker  ever 
said  was  frequently  marvelled  over  in  Thrums, 
both  before  and  behind  his  face,  but  unfortunately 
no  one  could  ever  remember  what  it  was.  The 
subject,  however,  was  Cha  Tamson's  potato  pit. 
There  is  little  doubt  that  it  was  a  fit  of  sarcasm 
that  induced  Tammas  to  marry  a  gypsy  lassie. 
Mr.  Byars  would  not  join  them,  so  Tammas  had 
himself  married  by  Jimmy  Pawse,  the  gay  little 
gypsy  king,  and  after  that  the  minister  re-married 
them.  The  marriage  over  the  tongs  is  a  thing  to 
scandalise  any  well-brought-up  person,  for  before 
he  joined  the  couple's  hands,  Jimmyjumped  about 

181 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

in  a  startling  way,  uttering  wild  gibberish,  and 
after  the  ceremony  was  over  there  was  rough  work, 
with  incantations  and  blowing  on  pipes.  Tammas 
always  held  that  this  marriage  turned  out  better 
than  he  had  expected,  though  he  had  his  trials  like 
other  married  men.  Among  them  was  Chirsty's 
way  of  climbing  on  to  the  dresser  to  get  at  the 
higher  part  of  the  plate-rack.  One  evening  I 
called  in  to  have  a  smoke  with  the  stone-breaker, 
and  while  we  were  talking  Chirsty  climbed  the 
dresser.  The  next  moment  she  was  on  the  floor 
on  her  back,  wailing,  but  Tammas  smoked  on 
imperturbably.  "  Do  you  not  see  what  has  hap- 
pened, man  ?  "  I  cried.  "  Ou,"  said  Tammas, 
"  she's  aye  fa'in  afF  the  dresser." 

Of  the  schoolmasters  who  were  at  times  mem- 
bers of  the  club,  Mr.  Dickie  was  the  ripest  scholar, 
but  my  predecessor  at  the  school-house  had  a  way 
of  sneering  at  him  that  was  as  good  as  sarcasm. 
When  they  were  on  their  legs  at  the  same  time, 
asking  each  other  passionately  to  be  calm,  and  roll- 
ing out  lines  from  Homer,  that  made  the  inn- 
keeper look  fearfully  to  the  fastenings  of  the  door, 
their  heads  very  nearly  came  together  although  the 
table  was  between  them.  The  old  dominie  had  an 
advantage  in  being  the  shorter  man,  for  he  could 
hammer  on  the  table  as  he  spoke,  while  gaunt  Mr. 
Dickie  had  to  stoop  to  it.  Mr.  McRittie's  argu- 
ments were  a  series  of  nails  that  he  knocked  into 

182 


A   LITERARY   CLUB 

the  table,  and  he  did  it  in  a  workmanlike  manner. 
Mr.  Dickie,  though  he  kept  firm  on  his  feet,  swayed 
his  body  until  by  and  by  his  head  was  rotating  in 
a  large  circle.  The  mathematical  figure  he  made 
was  a  cone  revolving  on  its  apex,  Gavin's  rein- 
stalment  in  the  chair  year  after  year  was  made  by 
the  disappointed  dominie  the  subject  of  some  tart 
verses  which  he  called  an  epode,  but  Gavin 
crushed  him  when  they  were  read  before  the 
club.  "  Satire,"  he  said,  "  is  a  legitimate  weapon, 
used  with  michty  effect  by  Swift,  Sammy  Butler, 
and  others,  and  I  dount  object  to  being  made  the 
subject  of  creeticism.  It  has  often  been  called  a 
t'nife  (knife),  but  them  as  is  not  used  to  t'nives 
cuts  their  hands,  and  ye'll  a'  observe  that  Mr. 
McRittie's  fingers  is  bleedin'."  All  eyes  were 
turned  upon  the  dominie's  hand,  and  though  he 
pocketed  it  smartly  several  members  had  seen  the 
blood.  The  dominie  was  a  rare  visitor  at  the  club 
after  that,  though  he  outlived  poor  Mr.  Dickie  by 
many  years.  Mr.  Dickie  was  a  teacher  in  Tillie- 
drum,  but  he  was  ruined  by  drink.  He  wandered 
from  town  to  town,  reciting  Greek  and  Latin  poetry 
to  any  one  who  would  give  him  a  dram,  and  some- 
times he  wept  and  moaned  aloud  in  the  street,  cry- 
ing, "  Poor  Mr.  Dickie  !  poor  Mr.  Dickie  I  " 

The  leading  poet  in  a  club  of  poets  was  Dite 
Walls,  who  kept  a  school  when  there  were  scholars, 
and  weaved  when  there  were  none.    He  had  a  song 

183 


AULD   LIGHT    IDYLLS 

that  was  published  in  a  half-penny  leaflet  about  the 
famous  lawsuit  instituted  by  the  farmer  of  Teuch- 
busses  against  the  Laird  of  Drumlee.  The  laird 
was  alleged  to  have  taken  from  the  land  of  Teuch- 
busses  sufficient  broom  to  make  a  besom  thereof, 
and  I  am  not  certain  that  the  case  is  settled  to  this 
day.  It  was  Dite  or  another  member  of  the  club 
who  wrote,  "  The  Wife  o'  Deeside,"  of  all  the 
songs  of  the  period  the  one  that  had  the  greatest 
vogue  in  the  county  at  a  time  when  Lord  Jeffrey 
was  cursed  at  every  fireside  in  Thrums.  The  wife 
of  Deeside  was  tried  for  the  murder  of  her  servant 
who  had  infatuated  the  young  laird,  and  had  it  not 
been  that  Jeffrey  defended  her  she  would,  in  the 
words  of  the  song,  have  "  hung  like  a  troot."  It 
is  not  easy  now  to  conceive  the  rage  against  Jeffrey 
when  the  woman  was  acquitted.  The  song  was 
sung  and  recited  in  the  streets,  at  the  smiddy,  in 
bothies,  and  by  firesides,  to  the  shaking  of  fists  and 
the  grinding  of  teeth.     It  began  — 

**  Ye' 11  a'  hae  hear  tell  o'  the  wife  o'  Deeside, 
Ye'll  a'  hae  hear  tell  o'  the  wife  o'  Deeside, 
She  poisoned  her  maid  for  to  keep  up  her  pride, 
Ye'll  a'  hae  hear  teH  o'  the  wife  o'  Deeside." 

Before  the  excitement  had  abated,  Jeffrey  was 
in  Tilliedrum  for  electioneering  purposes,  and  he 
was  mobbed  in  the  streets.  Angry  crowds  pressed 
close  to  howl,  "  Wife  o'  Deeside  I  "  at  him.    A  con- 

184 


A   LITERARY   CLUB 

tingent  from  Thrums  was  there,  and  it  was  long 
afterwards  told  of  Sam'l  Todd,  by  himself,  that  he 
hit  Jeffrey  on  the  back  of  the  head  with  a  clod  of 
earth. 

Johnny  McOuhatty,  a  brother  of  the  T'nowhead 
farmer,  was  the  one  taciturn  member  of  the  club, 
and  you  had  only  to  look  at  him  to  know  that  he 
had  a  secret.     He  was  a  great  genius  at  the  hand- 
loom,  and  invented  a  loom  for  the  weaving  of  linen 
such  as  has  not  been  seen  before  or  since.     In  the 
day-time  he  kept  guard  over  his  "  shop,"  into  which 
no  one  was  allowed  to  enter,  and  the  fame  ot  his 
loom  was  so  great  that  he  had  to  watch  over  it  with 
a  gun.     At  night  he  weaved,  and  when  the  result  at 
last  pleased  him  he  made  the  linen  into  shirts,  all 
of  which  he  stitched  together  with  his  own  hands, 
even  to  the  buttonholes.     He  sent  one  shirt  to  the 
Queen,  and  another  to  the   Duchess  of  Athole, 
mentioning  a  very  large   price   for  them,  which 
he  got.      Then  he  destroyed  his  wonderful  loom, 
and  how  it  was   made   no  one   will   ever  know. 
Johnny  only  took  to  literature  after  he  had  made 
his  name,  and  he  seldom  spoke  at  the  club  except 
when  ghosts  and  the  like  were  the  subject  of  de- 
bate, as   they  tended   to  be  when  the  farmer  of 
Muckle   Haws   could  get  in   a   word.      Muckle 
Haws  was  fascinated  by  Johnny's  sneers  at  super- 
stition, and  sometimes  on  dark  nights  the  inventor 
had  to  make  his  courage  good  by  seeing  the  far- 

185 


AULD   LIGHT   IDYLLS 

mer  past  the  doulie  yates  (ghost  gates),  which 
Muckle  Haws  had  to  go  perilously  near  on  his 
way  home.  Johnny  was  a  small  man,  but  it  was 
the  burly  farmer  who  shook  at  sight  of  the  gates 
standing  out  white  in  the  night.  White  gates  have 
an  evil  name  still,  and  Muckle  Haws  was  full  of 
horrors  as  he  drew  near  them,  clinging  to  Johnny's 
arm.  It  was  on  such  a  night,  he  would  remember, 
that  he  saw  the  White  Lady  go  through  the  gates 
greeting  sorely,  with  a  dead  bairn  in  her  arms, 
while  water  kelpies  laughed  and  splashed  in  the 
pools,  and  the  witches  danced  in  a  ring  round 
Broken  Buss.  That  very  night  twelve  months 
ago  the  packman  was  murdered  at  Broken  Buss, 
and  Easie  Pettie  hanged  herself  on  the  stump  of  a 
tree.  Last  night  there  were  ugly  sounds  from  the 
quarry  of  Croup,  where  the  bairn  lies  buried,  and 
it's  not  mous  (canny)  to  be  out  at  such  a  time. 
The  farmer  had  seen  spectre  maidens  walking 
round  the  ruined  castle  of  Darg,  and  the  castle  all 
lit  up  with  flaring  torches,  and  dead  knights  and 
ladies  sitting  in  the  halls  at  the  wine-cup,  and  the 
devil  himself  flapping  his  wings  on  the  ramparts. 

When  the  debates  were  political,  two  members 
with  the  gift  of  song  fired  the  blood  with  their  own 
poems  about  taxation  and  the  depopulation  of  the 
Highlands,  and  by  selling  these  songs  from  door 
to  door  they  made  their  livelihood. 

Books  and  pamphlets  were  brought  into  the 
186 


A   LITERARY   CLUB 

town  by  the  flying  stationers,  as  they  were  called, 
who  visited  the  square  periodically  carrying  their 
wares  on  their  backs,  except  at  the  Muckly,  when 
they  had  their  stall  and  even  sold  books  by  auction. 
The  flying  stationer  best  known  to  Thrums  was 
Sandersy  Riach,  who  was  stricken  from  head  to 
foot  with  the  palsy,  and  could  only  speak  with  a 
quaver  in  consequence.  Sandersy  brought  to  the 
members  of  the  club  all  the  great  books  he  could 
get  second  hand,  but  his  stock-in-trade  was 
Thrummy  Cap  and  Akenstaff,  the  Fishwives  of 
Buckhaven,  the  Devil  upon  Two  Sticks,  Gilderoy, 
Sir  James  the  Rose,  the  Brownie  of  Badenoch,  the 
Ghaist  of  Firenden,  and  the  like.  It  was  from 
Sandersy  that  Tammas  Haggart  bought  his  copy 
of  Shakspeare,  whom  Mr.  Dishart  could  never 
abide.  Tammas  kept  what  he  had  done  from  his 
wife,  but  Chirsty  saw  a  deterioration  setting  in  and 
told  the  minister  of  her  suspicions.  Mr.  Dishart 
was  newly  placed  at  the  time  and  very  vigorous^ 
and  the  way  he  shook  the  truth  out  of  Tammas 
was  grand.  The  minister  pulled  Tammas  the  one 
way  and  Gavin  pulled  him  the  other,  but  Mr. 
Dishart  was  not  the  man  to  be  beaten,  and  he  landed 
Tammas  in  the  Auld  Licht  kirk  before  the  year 
was  out.     Chirsty  buried  Shakspeare  in  the  yard. 


187 


BETTER   DEAD 


CHAPTER   I 

WHEN  Andrew  Riach  went  to  London,  his 
intention  was  to  become  private  secretary 
to  a  member  of  the  Cabinet.  If  time  permitted, 
he  proposed  writing  for  the  Press. 

"  It  might  be  better  if  you  and  Clarrie  under- 
stood each  other,"  the  minister  said. 

It  was  their  last  night  together.  They  faced 
each  other  in  the  manse-parlour  at  Wheens,  whose 
low,  peeled  ceihng  had  threatened  Mr.  Eassie  at 
his  desk  every  time  he  looked  up  with  his  pen  in 
his  mouth  until  his  wife  died,  when  he  ceased  to 
notice  things.  The  one  picture  on  the  walls,  an 
engraving  of  a  boy  in  velveteen,  astride  a  tree,  en- 
titled "  Boyhood  of  Bunyan,"  had  started  life  with 
him.  The  horsehair  chairs  were  not  torn,  and  you 
did  not  require  to  know  the  sofa  before  you  sat 
down  on  it,  that  day  thirty  years  before,  when  a 
chubby  minister  and  his  lady  walked  to  the  manse 
between  two  cart-loads  of  furniture,  trying  not  to 
look  elated. 

Clarrie  rose  to  go,  when  she  heard  her  name. 
The  love-light  was  in  her  eyes,  but  Andrew  did 

191 


BETTER  DEAD 

not  open  the  door  for  her,  for  he  was  a  Scotch 
graduate.  Besides,  she  might  one  day  be  his 
wife. 

The  minister's  toddy-ladle  clinked  against  his 
tumbler,  but  Andrew  did  not  speak.  Clarrie  was 
the  girl  he  generally  adored. 

"  As  for  Clarrie,"  he  said  at  last,  "  she  puts  me 
in  an  awkward  position.  How  do  I  know  that  I 
love  her?" 

"  You  have  known  each  other  a  long  time,"  said 
the  minister. 

His  guest  was  cleaning  his  pipe  with  a  hair-pin, 
that  his  quick  eye  had  detected  on  the  carpet. 

"And  she  is  devoted  to  you,"  continued  Mr. 
Eassie. 

The  young  man  nodded. 

"  What  I  fear,"  he  said,  "  is  that  we  have  known 
each  other  too  long.  Perhaps  my  feeling  for  Clar- 
rie is  only  brotherly — " 

"•  Hers  for  you,  Andrew,  is  more  than  sisterly." 

"Admitted.  But  consider,  Mr.  Eassie,  she  has 
only  seen  the  world  in  soirees.  Every  girl  has  her 
day-dreams,  and  Clarrie  has  perhaps  made  a  dream 
of  me.  She  is  impulsive,  given  to  idealisation, 
and  hopelessly  illogical." 

The  minister  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"  I  have  reasoned  out  her  present  relation  to 
me,"  the  young  man  went  on,  "  and,  the  more  you 
reduce  it  to  the  usual  formulae,  the  more  illogical 

192 


BETTER   DEAD 

it  becomes.  Clarrie  could  possibly  describe  me, 
but  define  me  —  never.  What  is  our  prospect  of 
happiness  in  these  circumstances '?  " 

"But  love — "  began  Mr.  Ea3sie. 

"  Love  I  "  exclaimed  Andrew.  "  Is  there  such  a 
thing'?  Reduce  it  to  syllogistic  form,  and  how 
does  it  look  in  Barbara  ?  " 

For  the  moment  there  was  almost  some  expres- 
sion in  his  face,  and  he  suffered  from  a  determina- 
tion of  words  to  the  mouth. 

"  Love  and  logic,"  Mr.  Eassie  interposed,  "  are 
hardly  kindred  studies." 

"  Is  love  a  study  at  all  ?  "  asked  Andrew,  bit- 
terly. "  It  is  but  the  trail  of  idleness.  But  all 
idleness  is  folly ;  therefore,  love  is  folly." 

Mr.  Eassie  was  not  so  keen  a  logician  as  his 
guest,  but  he  had  age  for  a  major  premiss.  He 
was  easy-going  rather  than  a  coward ;  a  preacher 
who,  in  the  pulpit,  looked  difficulties  genially  in 
the  face,  and  passed  them  by. 

Riach  had  a  very  long  neck.  He  was  twenty- 
iive  years  of  age,  fair,  and  somewhat  heavily  built, 
with  a  face  as  inexpressive  as  book-covers. 

A  native  of  Wheens  and  an  orphan,  he  had  been 
brought  up  by  his  uncle,  who  was  a  weaver  and 
read  Herodotus  in  the  original.  The  uncle  starved 
himself  to  buy  books  and  talk  about  them,  until 
one  day  he  got  a  good  meal,  and  died  of  it.  Then 
Andrew  apprenticed  himself  to  a  tailor. 

^93 


BETTER   DEAD 

When  his  time  was  out,  he  walked  fifty  miles  to 
Aberdeen  University,  and  got  a  bursary.  He  had 
been  there  a  month,  when  his  professor  said  good- 
naturedly  — 

"  Don't  you  think,  Mr.  Riach,  you  would  get 
on  better  if  you  took  your  hands  out  of  your 
pockets*?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  don't  think  so,"  replied  Andrew,  in 
all  honesty. 

When  told  that  he  must  apologise,  he  did  not 
see  it,  but  was  willing  to  argue  the  matter  out. 

Next  year  he  matriculated  at  Edinburgh,  shar- 
ing one  room  with  two  others ;  studying  through 
the  night,  and  getting  their  bed  when  they  rose. 
He  was  a  failure  in  the  classics,  because  they  left 
you  where  you  were,  but  in  his  third  year  he  woke 
the  logic  class-room,  and  frightened  the  professor 
of  moral  philosophy. 

He  was  nearly  rusticated  for  praying  at  a  de- 
bating society  for  a  divinity  professor  who  was  in 
the  chair. 

"  O  Lord  !  "  he  cried,  fervently,  "  open  his  eyes, 
guide  his  tottering  footsteps,  and  lead  him  from 
the  paths  of  folly  into  those  that  are  lovely  and  of 
good  report,  for  lol  his  days  are  numbered,  and 
the  sickle  has  been  sharpened,  and  the  corn  is  not 
yet  ripe  for  the  cutting." 

When  Andrew  graduated  he  was  known  as  a 
student  of  mark. 

194 


BETTER   DEAD 

He  returned  to  Wheens,  before  setting  out  for 
London,  with  the  consciousness  of  his  worth. 

Yet  he  was  only  born  to  follow,  and  his  chance 
of  making  a  noise  in  the  world  rested  on  his  meet- 
ing a  stronger  than  himself  During  his  summer 
vacations  he  had  weaved  sufficient  money  to  keep 
himself  during  the  winter  on  porridge  and  potatoes. 

Clarrie  was  beautiful  and  all  that. 

"  We'll  say  no  more  about  it,  then,"  the  minis- 
ter said  after  a  pause. 

"  The  matter,"  replied  Andrew,  "  cannot  be 
dismissed  in  that  way.  Reasonable  or  not,  I  do 
undoubtedly  experience  sensations  similar  to  Clar- 
rie's.  But  in  my  love  I  notice  a  distinct  ebb  and 
flow.  There  are  times  when  I  don't  care  a  hang 
for  her." 

"  Andrew  I " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Still,  it  is  you  who  have 
insisted  on  discussing  this  question  in  the  particu- 
lar instance.  Love  in  the  abstract  is  of  much 
greater  moment." 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought,  Andrew,"  Mr. 
Eassie  said,  "  that  you  are  lacking  in  the  imagina- 
tive faculty." 

"  In  other  words,  love  is  a  mere  fancy.  Grant 
that,  and  see  to  what  it  leads.  By  imagining  that 
I  have  Clarrie  with  me  I  am  as  well  off  as  if  I 
really  had.  Why,  then,  should  I  go  to  needless 
expense,  and  take  her  from  you '? " 

195 


BETTER   DEAD 

The  white-haired  minister  rose,  for  the  ten 
o'clock  bell  was  ringing  and  it  was  time  for  fam- 
ily worship. 

"  My  boy,"  he  said,  "  if  there  must  be  a  sacri- 
fice let  the  old  man  make  it.  I,  too,  have  imagi- 
nation." 

For  the  moment  there  was  a  majesty  about  him 
that  was  foreign  to  his  usual  bearing.  Andrew 
was  touched,  and  gripped  his  hand. 

"  Rather,"  he  cried,  "  let  the  girl  we  both  love 
remain  with  you.  She  will  be  here  waiting  for 
me  —  should  I  return." 

"  More  likely,"  said  the  minister,  "  she  will  be 
at  the  bank." 

The  banker  was  unmarried,  and  had  once  in 
February  and  again  in  June  seen  Clarrie  home 
from  the  Dorcas  Society.  The  town  talked  about 
it.  Strictly  speaking,  gentlemen  should  not  at- 
tend these  meetings;  but  in  Wheens  there  was 
not  much  difference  between  the  men  and  the 
women. 

That  night,  as  Clarrie  bade  Andrew  farewell  at 
the  garden  gate,  he  took  hef  head  in  his  hands 
and  asked  what  this  talk  about  the  banker  meant. 

It  was  no  ignoble  cufiosity  that  prompted  him. 
He  would  rather  have  got  engaged  to  her  there 
and  then  than  have  left  without  feeling  sure  of  her. 

His  sweetheart  looked  her  reply  straight  into 
his  eyes. 

196 


BETTER   DEAD 

"  Andrew  !  "  was  all  she  said. 

It  was  sufficient.  He  knew  that  he  did  not  re- 
quire to  press  his  point. 

Lover's  watches  stand  still.  At  last  Andrew 
stooped  and  kissed  her  upturned  face. 

"  If  a  herring  and  a  half,"  he  said  anxiously, 
"  cost  three  half-pence,  how  many  will  you  get  for 
elevenpence  ?  " 

Clarrie  was  mute. 

Andrew  shuddered ;  he  felt  that  he  was  making 
a  mistake. 

"  Why  do  I  kiss  you  *?  "  he  cried.  "  What  good 
does  it  do  either  of  us?  " 

He  looked  fiercely  at  his  companion,  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  Where  even  is  the  pleasure  in  it  ?  "  he  added 
brutally. 

The  only  objectionable  thing  about  Clarrie  was 
her  long  hair. 

She  wore  a  black  frock  and  looked  very  break- 
able.    Nothing  irritates  a  man  so  much. 

Andrew  gathered  her  passionately  in  his  arms, 
while  a  pained,  puzzled  expression  struggled  to 
reach  his  face. 

Then  he  replaced  her  roughly  on  the  ground 
and  left  her. 

It  was  impossible  to  say  whether  they  were  en- 
gaged. 


197 


CHAPTER   II 

Andrew  reached  King's  Cross  on  the  following 
Wednesday  morning. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  set  foot  in  England, 
and  he  naturally  thought  of  Bannockburn. 

He  left  his  box  in  the  cloak-room,  and,  finding 
his  way  into  Bloomsbury,  took  a  bed-room  at  the 
top  of  a  house  in  Bernard  Street. 

Then  he  returned  for  his  box,  carried  it  on  his 
back  to  his  lodgings,  and  went  out  to  buy  a  straw 
hat.     It  had  not  struck  him  to  be  lonely. 

He  bought  two  pork  pies  in  an  eating-house  in 
Gray's  Inn  Road,  and  set  out  for  Harley  Street, 
looking  at  London  on  the  way. 

Mr.  Gladstone  was  at  home,  but  all  his  private 
secretaryships  were  already  filled. 

Andrew  was  not  greatly  disappointed,  though 
he  was  too  polite  to  say  so.  In  politics  he  was  a 
granite-headed  Radical ;  and  on  several  questions, 
such  as  the  Church  and  Free  Education,  the  two 
men  were  hopelessly  at  variance. 

198 


BETTER   DEAD 

Mr.  Chamberlain  was  the  man  with  whom,  on 
the  whole,  he  beHeved  it  would  be  best  to  work. 
But  Mr.  Chamberlain  could  not  even  see  him. 

Looking  back  to  this  time,  it  is  impossible  not 
to  speculate  upon  how  things  might  have  turned 
out  had  the  Radical  party  taken  Andrew  to  them 
in  his  day  of  devotion  to  their  cause. 

This  is  the  saddest  spectacle  in  life,  a  brave 
young  man's  first  meeting  with  the  world.  How 
rapidly  the  milk  turns  to  gall  I  For  the  cruellest 
of  his  acts  the  vivisectionist  has  not  even  the  ex- 
cuse that  science  benefits. 

Here  was  a  young  Scotchman,  able,  pure,  of 
noble  ambition,  and  a  first  medallist  in  metaphy- 
sics. Genius  was  written  on  his  brow.  He  may 
have  written  it  himself,  but  it  was  there. 

He  offered  to  take  a  pound  a  week  less  than 
any  other  secretary  in  London.  Not  a  Cabinet 
Minister  would  have  him.  Lord  Randolph 
Churchill  would  not  speak  to  him.  He  had  fifty- 
eight  testimonials  with  him.  They  would  neither 
read  nor  listen  to  them. 

He  could  not  fasten  a  quarrel  on  London,  for  it 
never  recognised  his  existence.  What  a  commen- 
tary on  our  vaunted  political  life ! 

Andrew  tried  the  Press. 

He  sent  one  of  the  finest  things  that  was  ever 
written  on  the  Ontology  of  Being  to  paper  after 
paper,  and  it  was  never  used.     He  threatened  the 

199 


BETTER   DEAD 

"  Times  "  with  legal  proceedings  if  it  did  not  re- 
turn the  manuscript. 

The  "  Standard  "  sent  him  somebody  else's  man- 
uscript, and  seemed  to  think  it  would  do  as  well. 

In  a  fortnight  his  enthusiasm  had  been  bled  to 
death. 

His  testimonials  were  his  comfort  and  his  curse. 
He  would  have  committed  suicide  without  them, 
but  they  kept  him  out  of  situations. 

He  had  the  fifty-eight  by  heart,  and  went  over 
them  to  himself  all  day.  He  fell  asleep  with  them, 
and  they  were  there  when  he  woke. 

The  moment  he  found  himself  in  a  great  man's 
presence  he  began : 

"  From  the  Rev.  Peter  Mackay,  D.  D.,  author  of 
'The  Disruption  Divines,'  Minister  of  Free  St. 
King's,  Dundee. —  I  have  much  pleasure  in  stating 
that  I  have  known  Mr.  Andrew  Gordon  Cummings 
Riach  for  many  years,  and  have  been  led  to  form 
a  high  opinion  of  his  ability.  In  the  summer  of 
18 —  Mr.  Riach  had  entire  charge  of  a  class  in  my 
Sabbath  school,  when  I  had  ample  opportunity  of 
testing  his  efficiency,  unwearying  patience,  excep- 
tional power  of  illustration  and  high  Christian 
character,"  and  so  on. 

Or  he  might  begin  at  the  beginning  : 

"  Testimonials  in  favour  of  Andrew  G.  C.  Riach, 
M.  A.  (Edin.),  applicant  for  the  post  of  Private 
Secretary  to  any  one  of  her  Majesty's  Cabinet  Min- 

200 


BETTER   DEAD 

isters,  6  Candlish  Street,  Wheens,  N.  B.—  I,  An- 
drew G.  C.  Riach,  beg  to  offer  myself  as  a  candi- 
date for  the  post  of  private  secretary,  and  submit 
the  following  testimonials  in  my  favour  for  your 
consideration.  I  am  twenty-five  years  of  age,  a 
Master  of  Arts  of  the  University  of  Edinburgh, 
and  a  member  of  the  Free  Church  of  Scotland. 
At  the  University  I  succeeded  in  carrying  a  bur- 
sary of  14/.  lOi.  per  annum,  tenable  for  four  years. 
I  was  first  medallist  in  the  class  of  Logic  and  Me- 
taphysics, thirteenth  prizeman  in  Mathematics,  and 
had  a  certificate  of  merit  in  the  class  of  Natural 
Philosophy,  as  will  be  seen  from  my  testimonials." 

However,  he  seldom  got  as  far  as  this. 

It  was  when  alone  that  these  testimonials  were 
his  truest  solace.  Had  you  met  him  in  the  Strand 
conning  them  over,  you  might  have  taken  him  for 
an  actor.  He  had  a  yearning  to  stop  strangers  in 
the  streets  and  try  a  testimonial's  effect  on  them. 

Every  young  man  is  not  equally  unfortunate. 

Riach's  appearance  was  against  him. 

There  was  a  suggestion  of  latent  strength  about 
him  that  made  strangers  uncomfortable.  Even 
the  friends  who  thought  they  understood  him 
liked  him  to  go  away. 

Lord  Rosebery  made  several  jokes  to  him,  and 
Andrew  only  looked  at  him  in  response.  The 
general  feeling  was  that  he  was  sneering  at  you 
somewhere  in  his  inside. 

201 


BETTER   DEAD 

Let  us  do  no  one  an  injustice. 

As  it  turned  out,  the  Cabinet  and  Press  were 
but  being  used  in  this  case  as  the  means  to  an 
end. 

A  grand  work  lay  ready  for  Andrew's  hand 
when  he  was  fit  to  perform  it,  but  he  had  to  learn 
Naked  Truth  first.  It  was  ordained  that  they 
should  teach  it  him.  Providence  sometimes 
makes  use  of  strange  instruments. 

Riach  had  two  pounds  with  him  when  he  came 
to  London,  and  in  a  month  they  had  almost  gone. 

Now  and  again  he  made  an  odd  five  shillings. 

Do  you  know  how  men  in  his  position  live  in 
London  ^ 

He  could  not  afford  the  profession  of  not  having 
any. 

At  one  time  he  was  a  phrasemonger  for  politi- 
cians, especially  for  the  Irish  members,  who  were 
the  only  ones  that  paid. 

Some  of  his  phrases  have  become  Parliamentary. 
Thus  "  Buckshot "  was  his.  "  Mend  them  —  End 
them,"  "Grand  Old  Man,"  and  "Legislation  by 
Picnic  "  may  all  be  traced  to  the  struggling  young 
man  from  Wheens.* 

He  supplied  the  material  for  obituary  notices. 

When  the  newspaper  placards  announced  the 

*  Some  time  afterwards  Lord  Rosebery  convulsed  an  audience 
by  a  story  about  a  friend  of  his  who  complained  that  you  get 
"no  forrarder''  on  claret.      Andrew  was  that  friend. 

202 


BETTER   DEAD 

serious  illness  of  a  distinguished  man,  he  made  up 
characteristic  anecdotes  about  his  childhood,  his 
reputation  at  school,  his  first  love,  and  sent  them 
as  the  reminiscences  of  a  friend  to  the  great  London 
dailies.  These  were  the  only  things  of  his  they 
used.  As  often  as  not  the  invalid  got  better,  and 
then  Andrew  went  without  a  dinner. 

Once  he  offered  his  services  to  a  Conservative 
statesman ;  at  another  time  he  shot  himself  in  the 
coat  in  Northumberland  Street,  Strand,  to  oblige 
an  evening  paper  (five  shillings). 

He  fainted  in  the  pit  of  a  theatre  to  the  bribe 
of  an  emotional  tragedian  (a  guinea). 

He  assaulted  a  young  lady  and  her  aunt  with  a 
view  to  robbery,  in  a  quiet  thoroughfare,  by  ar- 
rangement with  a  young  gentleman,  who  rescued 
them  and  made  him  run  (ten  shillings). 

It  got  into  the  papers  that  he  had  fled  from  the 
wax  policeman  at  Tussaud's  (half-a-crown). 

More  than  once  he  sold  his  body  in  advance  to 
the  doctors,  and  was  never  able  to  buy  it  out.* 

It  would  be  a  labour,  thankless  as  impossible, 
to  recover  now  all  the  devices  by  which  Andrew 
disgraced  his  manhood  during  these  weeks  rather 
than  die.  As  well  count  the  "  drinks  "  an  actor 
has  in  a  day. 

*  He  had  fine  ideas,  but  no  money  to  work  them  out.  One 
was  to  start  a  serious  **  Spectator,"  on  the  lines  of  the  present 
one,  but  not  so  flippant  and  frivolous. 

203 


BETTER   DEAD 

It  is  not  our  part  to  climb  down  into  the  depths 
after  him.  He  re-appeared  eventually,  or  this  rec- 
ord would  never  have  been  written. 

During  this  period  of  gloom,  Clarrie  wrote  him 
frequently  long  and  tender  epistles. 

More  strictly,  the  minister  wrote  them,  for  he 
had  the  gift  of  beautiful  sentiment  in  letters,  which 
had  been  denied  to  her. 

She  copied  them,  however,  and  signed  them, 
and  they  were  a  great  consolation. 

The  love  of  a  good  girl  is  a  priceless  possession, 
or  rather,  in  this  case,  of  a  good  minister. 

So  long  as  you  do  not  know  which,  it  does  not 
make  much  difference. 

At  times  Andrew's  reason  may  have  been  un- 
hinged, less  on  account  of  his  reverses  than  because 
no  one  spoke  to  him. 

There  were  days  and  nights  when  he  rushed  all 
over  London. 

In  the  principal  streets  the  stolid-faced  Scotch- 
man in  a  straw  hat  became  a  familiar  figure. 

Strange  fancies  held  him.  He  stood  for  an  hour 
at  a  time  looking  at  his  face  in  a  shop-window. 

The  boot-blacks  pointed  at  him  and  he  disap- 
peared down  passages. 

He  shook  his  fist  at  the  'bus-conductors,  who 
would  not  leave  him  alone. 

In  the  yellow  night  policemen  drew  back  scared, 
as  he  hurried  past  them  on  his  way  to  nowhere. 

204 


BETTER   DEAD 

In  the  day-time  Oxford  Street  was  his  favourite 
thoroughfire.  He  was  very  irritable  at  this  time, 
and  could  not  leave  his  fellow  wayfarers  alone. 

More  than  once  he  poked  his  walking-stick 
through  the  eyeglass  of  a  brave  young  gentleman. 

He  would  turn  swiftly  round  to  catch  people 
looking  at  him. 

When  a  small  boy  came  in  his  way,  he  took 
him  by  the  neck  and  planted  him  on  the  curb- 
stone. 

If  a  man  approached  simpering,  Andrew  stopped 
and  gazed  at  him.  The  smile  went  from  the 
stranger's  face ;  he  blushed  or  looked  fierce.  When 
he  turned  round,  Andrew  still  had  his  eye  on  him. 
Sometimes  he  came  bouncing  back. 

"  What  are  you  so  confoundedly  happy  about  *?  " 
Andrew  asked. 

When  he  found  a  crowd  gazing  in  at  a  "  while 
you  wait"  shop-window,  or  entranced  over  the 
paving  of  a  street  — 

"  Splendid,  isn't  it  ? "  he  said  to  the  person 
nearest  him. 

He  dropped  a  penny,  which  he  could  ill  spare, 
into  the  hat  of  an  exquisite  who  annoyed  him  by 
his  way  of  lifting  it  to  a  lady. 

When  he  saw  a  man  crossing  the  street  too 
daintily,  he  ran  after  him  and  hit  him  over  the 
legs. 

Even  on  his  worst  days  his  reasoning  powers 
205 


BETTER   DEAD 

never  left  him.  Once  a  mother  let  her  child  slip 
from  her  arms  to  the  pavement. 

She  gave  a  shriek. 

"My  good  woman,"  said  Andrew,  testily,  "  what 
difference  can  one  infant  in  the  world  more  or  less 
make  ?  " 

We  come  now  to  an  eccentricity,  engendered  of 
loneliness,  that  altered  the  whole  course  of  his  life. 
Want  had  battered  down  his  door.  Truth  had 
been  evolved  from  despair.  He  was  at  last  to  have 
a  flash  into  salvation. 

To  give  an  object  to  his  walks  abroad  he  would 
fasten  upon  a  wayfarer  and  follow  him  till  he  ran 
him  to  his  destination.  Chance  led  to  his  selecting 
one  quarry  rather  than  another.  He  would  dog  a 
man's  footsteps,  struck  by  the  glossiness  of  his 
boots,  or  to  discover  what  he  was  in  such  a  hurry 
about,  or  merely  because  he  had  a  good  back  to 
follow.  Probably  he  seldom  knew  what  attracted 
him,  and  sometimes  when  he  reahsed  the  pursuit 
he  gave  it  up. 

On  these  occasions  there  was  one  person  only 
who  really  interested  him.  This  was  a  man,  some- 
what over  middle  age,  of  singularly  noble  and  dis- 
tinguished bearing.  His  brow  was  furrowed  with 
lines,  but  they  spoke  of  cares  of  the  past.  Benevo- 
lence had  settled  on  his  face.  It  was  as  if,  after  a 
weary  struggle,  the  sun  had  broken  through  the 
heavy  clouds.      He  was  attired  in   the  ordinary 

206 


BETTER   DEAD 

dress  of  an  English  gentleman ;  but  once,  when  he 
raised  his  head  to  see  if  it  rained,  Andrew  noticed 
that  he  only  wore  a  woollen  shirt,  without  a  neck- 
tie. As  a  rule,  his  well-trimmed,  venerable  beard 
hid  this  from  view. 

He  seemed  a  man  of  unostentatious  means. 
Andrew  lost  him  in  Drury  Lane  and  found  him 
again  in  Piccadilly.  He  was  generally  alone,  never 
twice  with  the  same  person.  His  business  was 
scattered,  or  it  was  his  pleasure  that  kept  him 
busy.  He  struck  the  observer  as  always  being  on 
the  outlook  for  someone  who  did  not  come. 

Why  attempt  to  account  for  the  nameless  fasci- 
nation he  exercised  over  the  young  Scotchman? 
We  speak  lightly  of  mesmeric  influence,  but,  after 
all,  there  is  only  one  mesmerist  for  youth  —  a  good 
woman  or  a  good  man.  Depend  upon  it,  that  is  why 
so  many  "mesmerists"  have  mistaken  their  vocation. 
Andrew  took  to  prowling  about  the  streets  looking 
for  this  man,  like  a  dog  that  has  lost  its  master. 

The  day  came  when  they  met. 

Andrew  was  returning  from  the  Crystal  Palace, 
which  he  had  been  viewing  from  the  outside.  He 
had  walked  both  ways.  Just  as  he  rounded  the 
upper  end  of  Chancery  Lane,  a  man  walking 
rapidly  struck  against  him,  whirled  him  aside, 
and  hurried  on. 

The  day  was  done,  but  as  yet  the  lamps  only 
dimmed  the  streets. 


BETTER   DEAD 

Andrew  had  been  dreaming,  and  the  jerk  woke 
him  to  the  roar  of  London. 

It  was  as  if  he  had  taken  his  fingers  from  his 
ears. 

He  staggered,  dazed,  against  a  'bus-horse,  but 
the  next  moment  he  was  in  pursuit  of  the  stranger. 
It  was  but  a  continuation  of  his  dream.  He  felt 
that  something  was  about  to  happen.  He  had 
never  seen  this  man  disturbed  before. 

Chancery  Lane  swarmed  with  lawyers,  but  if 
they  had  not  made  way  Andrew  would  have 
walked  over  them. 

He  clove  his  way  between  those  walking  abreast, 
and  struck  down  an  arm  extended  to  point  out 
the  Law  Courts.  When  he  neared  the  stranger, 
he  slightly  slackened  his  pace,  but  it  was  a  stam- 
pede even  then. 

Suddenly  the  pursued  came  to  a  dead  stop  and 
gazed  for  twenty  minutes  in  at  a  pastry-cook's 
window.  Andrew  waited  for  him.  Then  they 
started  off  again,  much  more  leisurely. 

They  turned  Chancery  Lane  almost  together. 
All  this  time  Andrew  had  failed  to  catch  sight  of 
the  other's  face. 

He  stopped  twice  in  the  Strand  for  a  few  min- 
utes. 

At  Charing  Cross  he  seemed  for  a  moment  at  a 
loss.  Then  he  sprang  across  the  street,  and  went 
back  the  way  he  came. 

208 


BETTER   DEAD 

It  was  now  for  the  first  time  that  a  strange  no- 
tion illumined  Andrew's  brain.  It  bewildered  him, 
and  left  him  in  darkness  the  next  moment.  But 
his  blood  was  running  hot  now,  and  his  eyes  were 
glassy. 

They  turned  down  Arundel  Street. 

It  was  getting  dark.  There  were  not  a  dozen 
people  in  the  narrow  thoroughfare. 

His  former  thought  leapt  back  into  Andrew's 
mind  —  not  a  fancy  now,  but  a  fact.  The  stranger 
was  following  someone  too. 

For  what  purpose  '?     His  own  ? 

Andrew  did  not  put  the  question  to  himself 

There  were  not  twenty  yards  between  the  three 
of  them. 

What  Riach  saw  in  front  was  a  short  stout  man 
proceeding  cheerfully  down  the  street.  He  de- 
layed in  a  doorway  to  light  a  cigar,  and  the 
stranger  stopped  as  if  turned  to  stone. 

Andrew  stopped  too. 

They  were  like  the  wheels  of  a  watch.  The 
first  wheel  moved  on,  and  set  the  others  going 
again. 

For  a  hundred  yards  or  more  they  walked  in 
procession  in  a  westerly  direction  without  meeting  a 
human  being.  At  last  the  first  of  the  trio  half  turned 
on  his  heel  and  leant  over  the  Embankment. 

Riach  drew  back  into  the  shade,  just  before  the 
stranger  took  a  lightning  glance  behind  him. 

209 


BETTER   DEAD 

The  young  man  saw  his  face  now.  It  was 
never  fuller  of  noble  purpose  ;  yet  why  did  An- 
drew cry  out? 

The  next  moment  the  stranger  had  darted  for- 
ward, slipped  his  arms  round  the  little  man's  legs, 
and  toppled  him  into  the  river. 

There  was  a  splash  but  no  shriek. 

Andrew  bounded  forward,  but  the  stranger  held 
him  by  one  hand.  His  clear  blue  eyes  looked 
down  a  little  wistfully  upon  the  young  Scotch- 
man, who  never  felt  the  fascination  of  a  master- 
mind more  than  at  that  moment.  As  if  feeling  his 
power,  the  elder  man  relaxed  his  hold  and  pointed 
to  the  spot  where  his  victim  had  disappeared. 

"  He  was  a  good  man,"  he  said,  more  to  him- 
self than  to  Andrew,  "  and  the  world  has  lost  a 
great  philanthropist ;  but  he  is  better  as  he  is." 

Then  he  lifted  a  paving-stone,  and  peered  long 
and  earnestly  into  the  waters. 

The  short  stout  man,  however,  did  not  rise 
again. 


210 


CHAPTER   III 

Lost  in  reverie,  the  stranger  stood  motionless  on 
the  Embankment.  The  racket  of  the  city  was  be- 
hind him.  At  his  feet  lay  a  drowned  world,  its 
lights  choking  in  the  Thames.  It  was  London,  as 
it  will  be  on  the  last  day. 

With  an  effort  he  roused  himself  and  took  An- 
drew's arm. 

"  The  body  will  soon  be  recovered,"  he  said,  in 
a  voice  of  great  dejection,  "  and  people  will  talk. 
Let  us  go." 

They  retraced  their  steps  up  Arundel  Street. 

"  Now,"  said  Andrew's  companion,  "tell  me  who 
you  are." 

Andrew  would  have  preferred  to  hear  who  the 
stranger  was.  In  the  circumstances  he  felt  that  he 
had  almost  a  right  to  know.  But  this  was  not  a 
man  to  brook  interference. 

"  If  you  will  answer  me  one  question,"  the  young 
Scotchman  said  humbly,  "  I  shall  tell  you  every- 
thing." 

His  reveries  had  made  Andrew  quick-witted, 
and  he  had  the  judicial  mind  which  prevents  one's 

211 


BETTER   DEAD 

judging  another  rashly.  Besides,  his  hankering 
after  this  man  had  already  suggested  an  exculpa- 
tion for  him. 

"  You  are  a  Radical  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

The  stranger's  brows  contracted.  "  Young 
man,"  he  said,  "  though  all  the  Radicals,  and  Lib- 
erals, and  Conservatives  who  ever  addressed  the 

House  of  Commons  were  in ,   I  would  not 

stoop  to  pick  them  up,  though  I  could  gather 
them  by  the  gross." 

He  said  this  without  an  Irish  accent,  and  An- 
drew felt  that  he  had  better  begin  his  story  at  once. 

He  told  everything. 

As  his  tale  neared  its  conclusion  his  companion 
scanned  him  narrowly. 

If  the  stranger's  magnanimous  countenance  did 
not  beam  down  in  sympathy  upon  the  speaker,  it 
was  because  surprise  and  gratification  filled  it. 

Only  once  an  ugly  look  came  into  his  eyes. 
That  was  when  Andrew  had  reached  the  middle 
of  his  second  testimonial. 

The  young  man  saw  the  look,  and  at  the  same 
time  felt  the  hold  on  his  arm  become  a  grip. 

His  heart  came  into  his  mouth.  He  gulped 
it  down,  and,  with  what  was  perhaps  a  judicious 
sacrifice,  jumped  the  remainder  of  his  testimonials. 

When  the  stranger  heard  how  he  had  been 
tracked  through  the  streets,  he  put  his  head  to  the 
side  to  think. 

212 


BETTER   DEAD 

It  was  a  remarkable  compliment  to  his  abstrac- 
tion that  Andrew  paused  involuntarily  in  his  story 
and  waited. 

He  felt  that  his  future  was  in  the  balance.  Those 
sons  of  peers  may  faintly  realise  his  position  whose 
parents  have  hesitated  whether  to  make  statesmen 
or  cattle-dealers  of  them. 

"  I  don't  mind  telling  you,"  the  stranger  said  at 
last,  "  that  your  case  has  been  under  consideration. 
When  we  left  the  Embankment  my  intention 
was  to  dispose  of  you  in  a  doorway.  But  your 
story  moves  me  strangely.  Could  I  be  certain  that 
you  felt  the  sacredness  of  human  life  —  as  I  fear 
no  boy  can  feel  it  — I  should  be  tempted  to  ask 
you  instead  to  become  one  of  us." 

There  was  something  in  this  remark  about  the 
sacredness  of  human  life  that  was  not  what  Andrew 
expected,  and  his  answer  died  unspoken. 

"  Youth,"  continued  the  stranger,  "is  enthusiasm, 
but  not  enthusiasm  in  a  straight  line.  We  are  im- 
potent in  directing  it,  like  a  boy  with  a  toy  engine. 
How  carefully  the  child  sets  it  off,  how  soon  it 
goes  off  the  rails  I  So  youth  is  wrecked.  The 
slightest  obstacle  sends  it  off  at  a  tangent.  The 
vital  force  expended  in  a  wrong  direction  does  evil 
instead  of  good.  Youknow  the  story  of  Atalanta.  It 
has  always  been  misread.  She  was  the  type  not  of 
woman  but  of  youth,  and  Hippomenes  personated 
age.     He  was  the  slower  runner,  but  he  won  die 

213 


BETTER   DEAD 

race ;  and  yet  how  beautiful,  even  where  it  runs  to 
riot,  must  enthusiasm  be  in  such  a  cause  as  ours  I " 

"  If  Atalanta  had  been  Scotch,"  said  Andrew, 
"  she  would  not  have  lost  that  race  for  a  pound  of 
apples." 

The  stranger  regarded  him  longingly,  like  a 
father  only  prevented  by  state  reasons  from  em- 
bracing his  son. 

He  murmured  something  that  Andrew  hardly 
caught. 

It  sounded  like : 

"  Atalanta  would  have  been  better  dead." 

"  Your  nationality  is  in  your  favour,"  he  said, 
"  and  you  have  served  your  apprenticeship  to  our 
calling.  You  have  been  tending  towards  us  ever 
since  you  came  to  London.  You  are  an  apple 
ripe  for  plucking,  and  if  you  are  not  plucked  now 
you  will  fall.  I  would  fain  take  you  by  the  hand, 
and  yet  —  " 

"And  yet?" 

"  And  yet  I  hesitate.  You  seem  a  youth  of  the 
fairest  promise ;  but  how  often  have  I  let  these 
impulses  deceive  me  I  You  talk  of  logic,  but  is 
it  more  than  talk "?  Man,  they  say,  is  a  reasonable 
being.  They  are  wrong.  He  is  only  a  being  ca- 
pable of  reason." 

"  Try  me,"  said  Andrew. 

The  stranger  resumed  in  a  lower  key : 

"  You  do  not  understand  what  you  ask  as  yet," 
214 


BETTER   DEAD 

he  said ;  "  still  less  what  we  would  ask  in  return  of 
you." 

"  I  have  seen  something  to-day,"  said  Andrew. 

"  But  you  are  mistaken  in  its  application.  You 
think  I  followed  the  man  lately  deceased  as  perti- 
naciously as  you  followed  me.  You  are  wrong. 
When  you  met  me  in  Chancery  Lane  I  w^as  in 
pursuit  of  a  gentleman  to  whose  case  I  have  de- 
voted myself  for  several  days.  It  has  interested 
me  much.  There  is  no  reason  why  I  should  con- 
ceal his  name.  It  is  one  honoured  in  this  country, 
Sir  Wilfrid  Lawson.  He  looked  in  on  his  man 
of  business,  which  delayed  me  at  the  shop-window 
of  which  you  have  spoken.  I  waited  for  him,  and 
I  thought  I  had  him  this  time.  But  you  see  I 
lost  him  in  the  Strand,  after  all." 

"  But  the  other,  then,"  Andrew  asked,  "  who  was 
he?" 

"  Oh,  I  picked  him  up  at  Charing  Cross.  He 
was  better  dead." 

"  I  think,"  said  Andrew,  hopefully,  "  that  my  esti- 
mate of  the  sacredness  of  human  life  is  sufficiently 
high  for  your  purpose.    If  that  is  the  only  point  — " 

"Ah,  they  all  say  that  until  they  join.  I  re- 
member an  excellent  young  man  who  came  among 
us  for  a  time.  He  seemed  discreet  beyond  his 
years,  and  w^e  expected  great  things  of  him.  But 
it  was  the  old  story.  For  young  men  the  cause  is 
as  demoralizing  as  boarding  schools  are  for  girls." 

215 


BETTER   DEAD 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"  It  went  to  his  head.  He  took  a  bedroom  in 
Pall  Mall  and  sat  at  the  window  with  an  electric 
rifle  picking  them  off  on  the  door-steps  of  the  clubs. 
It  was  a  noble  idea,  but  of  course  it  imperilled  the 
very  existence  of  the  society.     He  was  a  curate." 

"  What  became  of  him  ?  "  asked  Andrew. 

"  He  is  better  dead,"  said  the  stranger,  softly. 

"  And  the  Society  you  speak  of,  what  is  it  ^  " 

"  The  S.  D.  W.  S.  P." 

"  The  S.  D.  W.  S.  P.  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  Society  for  Doing  Without  Some 
People." 

They  were  in  Holborn,  but  turned  up  South- 
ampton Row  for  quiet. 

"  You  have  told  me,"  said  the  stranger,  now 
speaking  rapidly,  "  that  at  times  you  have  felt 
tempted  to  take  your  life,  that  life  for  which  you 
will  one  day  have  to  account.  Suicide  is  the 
coward's  refuge.  You  are  miserable  ?  When  a 
young  man  knows  that,  he  is  happy.  Misery  is 
but  preparing  for  an  old  age  of  delightful  reminis- 
cence. You  say  that  London  has  no  work  for 
you,  that  the  functions  to  which  you  looked  for- 
ward are  everywhere  discharged  by  another.  That 
need  not  drive  you  to  despair.  If  it  proves  that 
someone  should  die,  does  it  necessarily  follow  that 
the  someone  is  you  ?  " 

"  But  is  not  the  other's  life  as  sacred  as  mine  ?  " 
216 


BETTER   DEAD 

"  That  is  his  concern." 

''  Then  you  would  have  me  — " 

"  Certainly  not.  You  are  a  boxer  without  em- 
ployment, whom  I  am  showing  what  to  hit.  In 
such  a  case  as  yours  the  Society  would  be  repre- 
sented by  a  third  party,  whose  decision  would  be 
final.  As  an  interested  person  you  would  have  to 
stand  aside." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  The  arbitrator  would  settle  if  you  should  go." 

Andrew  looked  blank. 

"Go?"  he  repeated. 

"  It  is  a  euphemism  for  die,"  said  his  companion 
a  little  impatiently.  "  This  is  a  trivial  matter,  and 
hardly  worth  going  into  at  any  length.  It  shows 
our  process,  however,  and  the  process  reveals  the 
true  character  of  the  organization.  As  I  have  al- 
ready mentioned,  the  Society  takes  for  its  first  prin- 
ciple the  sanctity  of  human  life.  Everyone  who 
has  mixed  much  among  his  fellow-creatures  must 
be  aware  that  this  is  adulterated,  so  to  speak,  by 
numbers  of  spurious  existences.  Many  of  these 
are  a  nuisance  to  themselves.  Others  may  at  an 
earlier  period  have  been  lives  of  great  promise  and 
fulfilment.  In  the  case  of  the  latter,  how  sad  to 
think  that  they  should  be  dragged  out  into  worth- 
lessness  or  dishonour,  all  for  want  of  a  friendly  hand 
to  snap  them  short !  In  the  lower  form  of  lite  the 
process  of  preying  upon  animals  whose  work   is 

217 


BETTER  DEAD 

accomplished  —  that  is,  of  weeding  —  goes  on  con- 
tinually. Man  must,  of  course,  be  more  cautious. 
The  grand  function  of  the  Society  is  to  find  out  the 
persons  who  have  a  claim  on  it,  and  in  the  interests 
of  humanity  to  lay  their  condition  before  them. 
After  that  it  is  in  the  majority  of  cases  for  them- 
selves to  decide  whether  they  will  go  or  stay  on." 

"  But,"  said  Andrew,  "  had  the  gentleman  in  the 
Thames  consented  to  go  ?  " 

"  No,  that  was  a  case  where  assistance  had  to  be 
given.     He  had  been  sounded,  though." 

"  And  do  you  find,"  asked  Andrew,  "  that  many 
of  them  are  —  agreeable  ?  " 

"  I  admit,"  said  the  stranger,  "  that  so  far  that 
has  been  our  chief  difficulty.  Even  the  men  we 
looked  upon  as  certainties  have  fallen  short  of  our 
expectations.  There  is  Mallock,  now,  who  said 
that  life  was  not  worth  living.  I  called  on  him 
only  last  week,  fully  expecting  him  to  meet  me 
half-way." 

"And  he  didn't?" 

"  Mallock  was  a  great  disappointment,"  said  the 
stranger,  with  genuine  pain  in  his  voice. 

He  liked  Mallock. 

"  However,"  he  added,  brightening,  "  his  case 
comes  up  for  hearing  at  the  next  meeting.  If  I 
have  two-thirds  of  the  vote  we  proceed  with  it." 

"  But  how  do  the  authorities  take  it '? "  asked 
Andrew. 

218 


BETTER   DEAD 

''  Pooh  I  "  said  the  stranger. 

Andrew,  however,  could  not  think  so. 

"  It  is  against  the  law,  you  know,"  he  said. 

"  The  law  winks  at  it,"  the  stranger  said.  ''  Law 
has  its  feelings  as  well  as  we.  We  have  two  Lon- 
don magistrates  and  a  minister  on  the  executive, 
and  the  Lord  Chief  Justice  is  an  honorary  member." 

Andrew  raised  his  eyes. 

"  This,  of  course,  is  private,"  continued  the 
stranger.  "  These  men  join  on  the  understanding 
that  if  anything  comes  out  they  deny  all  connec- 
tion with  us.  But  they  have  the  thing  at  heart. 
I  have  here  a  very  kind  letter  from  Gladstone  —  " 

He  felt  in  his  pockets. 

"  I  seem  to  have  left  it  at  home.  However,  its 
purport  was  that  he  hoped  we  would  not  admit 
Lord  Salisbury  an  honorary  member." 

"Why  not ^" 

"  Well,  the  Society  has  power  to  take  from  its 
numbers,  so  far  as  ordinary  members  are  concerned, 
but  it  is  considered  discourteous  to  reduce  the 
honorary  list." 

"  Then  why  have  honorary  members  ?  "  asked 
Andrew  in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm. 

"  It  is  a  necessary  precaution.  They  subscribe 
largely  too.  Indeed,  the  association  is  now  estab- 
lished on  a  sound  commercial  basis.  We  are  pay- 
ing six  per  cent." 

"  None  of  these  American  preachers  who  come 
219 


BETTER   DEAD 

over  to  this  country  are  honorary  members  ^ " 
asked  Andrew,  anxiously. 

"  No  ;  one  of  them  made  overtures  to  us,  but 
we  would  not  listen  to  him.     Why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  said  Andrew. 

"  To  do  the  honorary  list  justice,"  said  his  com- 
panion, "  it  gave  us  one  fine  fellow  in  our  honor- 
ary president.     He  is  dead  now." 

Andrew  looked  up. 

"  No,  we  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It  was 
Thomas  Carlyle." 

Andrew  raised  his  hat. 

"  Though  he  was  over  eighty  years  of  age," 
continued  the  stranger.  "  Carlyle  would  hardly  rest 
content  with  merely  giving  us  his  countenance. 
He  wanted  to  be  a  working  member.  It  was  he 
who  mentioned  Froude's  name  to  us." 

"  For  honorary  membership  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  Froude  would  hardly  have  com- 
pleted the  '  Reminiscences '  had  it  not  been  that 
we  could  never  make  up  our  minds  between  him 
and  Freeman." 

Youth  is  subject  to  sudden  fits  of  despondency. 
Its  hopes  go  up  and  down  like  a  bucket  in  a  draw- 
well. 

"  They'll  never  let  me  join,"  cried  Andrew,  sor- 
rowfully. 

His  companion  pressed  his  hand. 

"  Three  black  balls  exclude,"  he  said,  ''  but  you 

220 


BETTER   DEAD 

have  the  president  on  your  side.  With  my  intro- 
duction you  will  be  admitted  a  probationer,  and 
after  that  everything  depends  on  yourself." 

"  I  thought  you  must  be  the  president  from  the 
first,"  said  Andrew,  reverently. 

He  had  not  felt  so  humble  since  the  first  day  he 
went  to  the  University  and  walked  past  and  repast 
it,  frightened  to  go  in. 

"  How  long,"  he  asked,  "  does  the  period  of 
probation  last  ?  " 

"  Three  months.  Then  you  send  in  a  thesis, 
and  if  it  is  considered  satisfactory  you  become  a 
member." 

"  And  if  it  isn't  ?  " 

The  president  did  not  say. 

"  A  thesis,"  he  said,  "  is  generally  a  paper  with 
a  statement  of  the  line  of  action  you  propose  to 
adopt,  subject  to  the  Society's  approval.  Each 
member  has  his  specialty  —  as  law,  art,  divinity, 
literature,  and  the  like." 

"  Does  the  probationer  devote  himself  exclu- 
sively during  these  three  months  to  his  thesis  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  he  never  has  so  much  liberty 
as  at  this  period.     He  is  expected  to  be  practising." 

"  Practising  *? " 

"  Well,  experimenting,  getting  his  hand  in,  so 
to  speak.  The  member  acts  under  instructions  only, 
but  the  probationer  just  does  what  he  thinks  best." 

"  There  is  a  man  on  my  stair,"  said  Andrew, 
221 


BETTER   DEAD 

after  a  moment's  consideration,  "  who  asks  his 
friends  in  every  Friday  night,  and  recites  to  them 
with  his  door  open.  I  think  I  should  Hke  to 
begin  with  him." 

"  As  a  society  we  do  not  recognise  these  private 
cases.  The  public  gain  is  so  infinitesimal.  We 
had  one  probationer  who  constructed  a  very  in- 
genious water-butt  for  boys.  Another  had  a 
scheme  for  clearing  the  streets  of  the  people  who 
get  in  the  way.  He  got  into  trouble  about  some 
perambulators.     Let  me  see  your  hands." 

They  stopped  at  a  lamp-post. 

"  They  are  large,  which  is  an  advantage,"  said 
the  president,  fingering  Andrew's  palms ;  "  but  are 
they  supple  *?  " 

Andrew  had  thought  very  little  about  it,  and  he 
did  not  quite  comprehend. 

"  The  hands,"  explained  the  president,  "are  per- 
haps the  best  natural  weapon ;  but,  of  course,  there 
are  different  ways  of  doing  it." 

The  young  Scotchman's  brain,  however,  could 
not  keep  pace  with  his  companion's  words,  and 
the  president  looked  about  him  for  an  illustration. 

They  stopped  at  Gower  Street  station  and 
glanced  at  the  people  coming  out. 

None  of  them  was  of  much  importance,  but  the 
president  left  them  alone. 

Andrew  saw  what  he  meant  now,  and  could  not 
but  admire  his  forbearance. 

222 


BETTER   DEAD 

They  turned  away,  but  just  as  they  emerged 
into  the  blaze  of  Tottenham  Court  Road  they  ran 
into  two  men,  warmly  shaking  hands  with  each 
other  before  they  parted.  One  of  them  wore  an 
eye-glass. 

"  Chamberlain  I  "  exclaimed  the  president,  rush- 
ing after  him. 

"  Did  you  recognise  the  other  *?  "  said  Andrew, 
panting  at  his  heels. 

"No!  who  was  it?" 

"  Stead,  of  the  '  Pall  Mall  Gazette.'  " 

"  Great  God,"  cried  the  president,  "  two  at  a 
time  ! " 

He  turned  and  ran  back.  Then  he  stopped 
irresolutely.  He  could  not  follow  the  one  for 
thought  of  the  other. 


223 


CHAPTER   IV 

The  London  cabman's  occupation  consists  in 
dodging  thoroughfares  under  repair. 

Numbers  of  dingy  streets  have  been  flung  about 
to  help  him.  There  is  one  of  these  in  Bloomsbury, 
which  was  originally  discovered  by  a  student  while 
looking  for  the  British  Museum.  It  runs  a  hun- 
dred yards  in  a  straight  line,  then  stops,  like  a 
stranger  who  has  lost  his  way,  and  hurries  by  an- 
other route  out  of  the  neighbourhood. 

The  houses  are  dull,  except  one,  just  where  it 
doubles,  which  is  gloomy. 

This  house  is  divided  into  sets  of  chambers  and 
has  a  new  frontage,  but  it  no  longer  lets  well.  A 
few  years  ago  there  were  two  funerals  from  it 
within  a  fortnight,  and  soon  afterward  another 
of  the  tenants  was  found  at  the  foot  of  the  stair 
with  his  neck  broken.  These  fatalities  gave  the 
house  a  bad  name,  as  such  things  do  in  London. 

It  was  here  that  Andrew's  patron,  the  president, 
lived. 

To  the  outcast  from  work  to  get  an  object  in 
life  is  to  be  born  again.     Andrew  bustled  to  the 

224 


BETTER   DEAD 

president's  chambers  on  the  Saturday  night  follow- 
ing the  events  already  described,  with  his  chest 
well  set. 

His  springy  step  echoed  of  wages  in  the  hearts 
of  the  unemployed.  Envious  eyes,  following  his 
swaggering  staff,  could  not  see  that  but  a  few  days 
before  he  had  been  as  the  thirteenth  person  at  a 
dinner-party. 

Such  a  change  does  society  bring  about  when  it 
empties  a  chair  for  the  superfluous  man. 

It  may  be  wondered  that  he  felt  so  sure  of  him- 
self, for  the  night  had  still  to  decide  his  claims. 

Andrew,  however,  had  thought  it  all  out  in  his 
solitary  lodgings,  and  had  put  fear  from  him.  He 
felt  his  failings  and  allowed  for  every  one  of  them, 
but  he  knew  his  merits  too,  and  his  testimonials 
were  in  his  pocket.  Strength  of  purpose  was  his 
weak  point,  and,  though  the  good  of  humanity 
was  his  loadstar,  it  did  not  make  him  quite  forget 
self 

It  may  not  be  possible  to  serve  both  God  and 
mammon,  but  since  Adam  the  world  has  been  at 
it.     We  ought  to  know  by  this  time. 

The  Society  for  Doing  Without  was  as  immoral 
as  it  certainly  was  illegal.  The  president's  motives 
were  not  more  disinterested  than  his  actions  were 
defensible.     He  even  deserved  punishment. 

All  these  things  may  be.  The  great  social 
question  is  not  to  be  solved  in  a  day.    It  never  will 

225 


BETTER   DEAD 

be  solved  if  those  who  take  it  by  the  beard  are  not 
given  an  unbiassed  hearing. 

Those  were  the  young  Scotchman's  views  when 
the  president  opened  the  door  to  him,  and  what 
he  saw  and  heard  that  night  strengthened  them. 

It  was  characteristic  ot  Andrew's  host  that  at 
such  a  time  he  could  put  himself  in  the  young 
man's  place. 

He  took  his  hand  and  looked  him  in  the  face 
more  like  a  physician  than  a  mere  acquaintance. 
Then  he  drew  him  aside  into  an  empty  room. 

"  Let  me  be  the  first  to  congratulate  you,"  he 
said;  "you  are  admitted." 

Andrew  took  a  long  breath,  and  the  president 
considerately  turned  away  his  head  until  the  young 
probationer  had  regained  his  composure.  Then 
he  proceeded : 

"  The  society  only  asks  from  its  probationers 
the  faith  which  it  has  in  them.  They  take  no 
oath.  We  speak  in  deeds.  The  Brotherhood  do 
not  recognise  the  possibility  of  treachery ;  but  they 
are  prepared  to  cope  with  it  if  it  comes.  Better 
far,  Andrew  Riach,  to  be  in  your  grave,  dead  and 
rotten  and  forgotten,  than  a  traitor  to  the  cause." 

The  president's  voice  trembled  with  solemnity. 

He  stretched  forth  his  hands,  slowly  repeating 
the  words,  "  dead  and  rotten  and  forgotten,"  until 
his  wandering  eyes  came  to  rest  on  the  young 
man's  neck. 

226 


BETTER   DEAD 

Andrew  drew  back  a  step  and  bowed  silently,  as 
he  had  seen  many  a  father  do  at  a  christening  in 
the  kirk  at  Wheens. 

"You  will  shortly,"  continued  the  president, 
with  a  return  to  his  ordinary  manner,  "hear  an 
address  on  female  suffrage  from  one  of  the  noblest 
women  in  the  land.  It  will  be  your  part  to  listen. 
To-night  you  will  both  hear  and  see  strange  things. 
Say  nothing.  Evince  no  surprise.  Some  mem- 
bers are  irritable.     Come  I  " 

Once  more  he  took  Andrew  by  the  hand,  and 
led  him  into  the  meeting-room ;  and  still  his  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  probationer's  neck.  There 
seemed  to  be  something  about  it  that  he  liked. 

It  was  not  then,  with  the  committee  all  around 
him,  but  long  afterwards  at  Wheens,  that  Andrew 
was  struck  by  the  bareness  of  the  chambers. 

Without  the  president's  presence  they  had  no 
character. 

The  trifles  were  absent  that  are  to  a  room  what 
expression  is  to  the  face. 

The  tenant  might  have  been  a  medical  student 
who  knew  that  it  was  not  worth  while  to  unpack 
his  boxes. 

The  only  ornament  on  the  walls  was  an  elabo- 
rate sketch  by  a  member,  showing  the  arrangement 
of  the  cellars  beneath  the  premises  of  the  Young 
Men's  Christian  Association. 

There  were  a  dozen  men  in  the  room,  including 
227 


BETTER   DEAD 

the  president  of  the  Birmingham  branch  association 
and  two  members  who  had  just  returned  from  a 
visit  to  Edinburgh.  These  latter  had  already  sub- 
mitted their  report. 

The  president  introduced  Andrew  to  the  com- 
mittee, but  not  the  committee  to  him.  Several  of 
them  he  recognized  from  the  portraits  in  the  shop 
windows. 

They  stood  or  sat  in  groups  looking  over  a  pro- 
bationer's thesis.  It  consisted  of  diagrams  of  ma- 
chinery. 

Andrew  did  not  see  the  sketches,  though  they 
were  handed  round  separately  for  inspection,  but 
he  listened  eagerly  to  the  president's  explanations. 

"  The  first,"  said  the  president,  "  is  a  beautiful 
little  instrument  worked  by  steam.  Having  placed 
his  head  on  the  velvet  cushion  D,  the  subject  can 
confidently  await  results. 

"  No.  2  is  the  same  model  on  a  larger  scale. 

"  As  yet  3  can  be  of  little  use  to  us.  It  includes 
a  room  13  feet  by  1 1.  X  is  the  windows  and  other 
apertures ;  and  these  being  closed  up  and  the  sub- 
jects admitted,  all  that  remains  to  be  done  is  to 
lock  the  door  from  the  outside  and  turn  on  the 
gas.  E,  F,  and  K  are  couches,  and  L  is  a  square 
inch  of  glass  through  which  results  may  be  noted. 

''  The  speciality  of  4,  which  is  called  the  '  water 
cure,'  is  that  it  is  only  workable  on  water.  It  is 
generally  admitted  that  release  by  drowning  is  the 

228 


BETTER   DEAD 

pleasantest  of  all  deaths ;  and,  indeed,  4,  speaking 
roughly,  is  a  boat  with  a  hole  in  the  bottom.  It 
is  so  simple  that  a  child  could  work  it.  C  is  the 
plug. 

"  No.  5  is  an  intricate  instrument.  The  advan- 
tage claimed  for  it  is  that  it  enables  a  large  num- 
ber of  persons  to  leave  together." 

While  the  thesis  was  under  discussion,  the  at- 
tendance was  increased  by  a  few  members  specially 
interested  in  the  question  of  female  suffrage.  An- 
drew observed  that  several  of  these  wrote  some- 
thing on  a  piece  of  paper  which  lay  on  the  table 
with  a  pencil  beside  it.  before  taking  their  seats. 

He  stretched  himself  in  the  direction  of  this 
paper,  but  subsided  as  he  caught  the  eyes  of  two 
of  the  company  riveted  on  his  neck. 

From  that  time  until  he  left  the  rooms  one 
member  or  other  was  staring  at  his  neck.  Andrew 
looked  anxiously  in  the  glass  over  the  mantelpiece 
but  could  see  nothing  wrong. 

The  paper  on  the  table  merely  contained  such 
jottings  as  these  :  — 

"  Robert  Buchanan  has  written  another  play." 

"  Schnadhorst  is  in  town." 

"Ashmead  Bartlett  walks  in  Temple  Gardens 

3  to  4-" 

"  Clement  Scott  (?)  " 

"  Query :  Is  there  a  dark  passage  near  Hynd- 
man's  (Socialist's)  house  '?  " 

229 


BETTER   DEAD 

*'  Talmage.     Address,  Midland  Hotel." 

"Andrew  Lang  (?)  " 

Andrew  was  a  good  deal  interested  in  woman's 
suffrage,  and  the  debate  on  this  question  in  the 
students'  society  at  Edinburgh,  when  he  spoke  for 
an  hour  and  five  minutes,  is  still  remembered  by 
the  janitor  who  had  to  keep  the  door  until  the 
meeting  closed. 

Debating  societies,  like  the  company  of  report- 
ers, engender  a  familiarity  of  reference  to  eminent 
persons,  and  Andrew  had  in  his  time  struck  down 
the  champions  of  woman's  rights  as  a  boy  plays 
with  his  ninepins. 

To  be  brought  face  to  face  with  a  lady  whose 
name  is  a  household  word  wheresoever  a  few 
Scotchmen  can  meet  and  resolve  themselves  into 
an  argument  was  another  matter. 

It  was  with  no  ordinary  mingling  of  respect 
with  curiosity  that  he  stood  up  with  the  others  to 
greet  Mrs.  Fawcett  as  the  president  led  her  into 
the  room.  The  young  man's  face,  as  he  looked 
upon  her  for  the  first  time,  was  the  best  book  this 
remarkable  woman  ever  wrote. 

The  proceedings  were  necessarily  quiet,  and  the 
president  had  introduced  their  guest  to  the  meeting 
without  Andrew's  hearing  a  word. 

He  was  far  away  in  a  snow-swept  University 
quadrangle  on  a  windy  night,  when  Mrs.  Fawcett 
rose  to  her  feet. 

230 


BETTER   DEAD 

Some  one  flung  open  the  window,  for  the  place 
was  close,  and  immediately  the  skirl  of  a  bagpiper 
broke  the  silence. 

It  might  have  been  the  devil  that  rushed  into 
the  room. 

Still  Andrew  dreamed  on. 

The  guest  paused. 

The  members  looked  at  each  other,  and  the 
president  nodded  to  one  of  them. 

He  left  the  room,  and  about  two  minutes  after- 
wards the  music  suddenly  ceased. 

Andrew  woke  with  a  start  in  time  to  see  him 
return,  write  two  words  in  the  members'  book, 
and  resume  his  seat.     Mrs.  Fawcett  then  began. 

"I  have  before  me,"  she  said,  turning  over  the 
leaves  of  a  bulky  manuscript,  "  a  great  deal  of 
matter  bearing  on  the  question  of  woman's  rights, 
which  at  such  a  meeting  as  this  may  be  considered 
read.  It  is  mainly  historical,  and  while  I  am  pre- 
pared to  meet  with  hostile  criticism  from  the  so- 
ciety, I  assume  that  the  progress  our  agitation  has 
made,  with  its  disappointments,  its  trials,  and  its 
triumphs,  has  been  followed  more  or  less  carefully 
by  you  all. 

"  Nor  shall  I,  after  the  manner  of  speakers  on 
such  an  occasion,  pay  you  the  doubtful  compli- 
ment of  fulsomely  extolling  your  aims  before 
your  face. 

"  I  come  at  once  to  the  question  of  woman's 
231 


BETTER   DEAD 

rights  in  so  far  as  the  society  can  affect  them,  and 
I  ask  of  you  a  consideration  of  my  case  with  as 
little  prejudice  as  men  can  be  expected  to  ap- 
proach it. 

"  In  the  constitution  of  the  society,  as  it  has 
been  explained  to  me,  I  notice  chiefly  two  things 
which  would  have  filled  me  with  indignation 
twenty  years  ago,  but  only  remind  me  how  far  we 
are  from  the  goal  of  our  ambition  now. 

"  The  first  is  a  sin  of  omission,  the  second  one 
of  commission,  and  the  latter  is  the  more  to  be 
deprecated  in  that  you  made  it  with  your  eyes 
open,  after  full  discussion,  while  the  other  came 
about  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"  I  believe  I  am  right  in  saying  that  the  mem- 
bership of  this  society  is  exclusively  male,  and 
also  that  no  absolute  veto  has  been  placed  on  fe- 
male candidature. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  never  struck  the  founders 
that  such  a  veto  in  black  and  white  was  necessary. 
When  they  drew  up  the  rules  of  membership  the 
other  sex  never  fell  like  a  black  shadow  on  the 
paper ;  it  was  forgotten.  We  owe  our  eligibility 
to  many  other  offices  (generally  disputed  at  law) 
to  the  same  accident.  In  short,  the  unwritten  law 
of  the  argumentum  ad  crinolinam  puts  us  to  the  side." 

Having  paid  the  society  the  compliment  of  be- 
lieving that,  however  much  it  differed  from  her 
views,  it  would  not  dismiss  them  with  a  laugh, 

232 


BETTER   DEAD 

Mrs.  Fawcett  turned  to  the  question  of  woman's 
alleged  physical  limitations. 

She  said  much  on  this  point  that  Andrew  saw 
could  not  be  easily  refuted,  but,  interesting  though 
she  made  it,  we  need  not  follow  her  over  beaten 
ground. 

So  far  the  members  had  given  her  the  courteous 
non-attention  which  thoughtful  introductory  re- 
marks can  always  claim.  It  was  when  she  reached 
her  second  head  that  they  fastened  upon  her  words. 

Then  Andrew  had  seen  no  sharper  audience  since 
he  was  one  of  a  Scotch  congregation  on  the  scent 
of  a  heretic. 

"At  a  full  meeting  of  committee,"  said  Mrs. 
Fawcett,  with  a  ring  of  bitterness  in  her  voice, 
"  you  passed  a  law  that  women  should  not  enjoy 
the  advantages  of  the  association.  Be  they  ever 
so  eminent,  their  sex  deprives  them  of  your  care. 
You  take  up  the  case  of  a  petty  maker  of  books 
because  his  tea-leaf  solutions  weary  you,  and  you 
put  a  stop  to  him  with  an  enthusiasm  worthy  of 
a  nobler  object. 

"  But  the  woman  is  left  to  decay. 

"  This  society  at  its  noblest  was  instituted  for 
taking  strong  means  to  prevent  men's  slipping 
down  the  ladder  it  has  been  such  a  toil  to  them  to 
mount,  but  the  women  who  have  climbed  as  high 
as  they  can  fall  from  rung  to  rung. 

"  There  are  female  nuisances  as  well  as  male ;  I 


BETTER   DEAD 

presume  no  one  here  will  gainsay  me  that.  But 
you  do  not  know  them  officially.  The  politicians 
who  joke  about  three  acres  and  a  cow,  the  writers 
who  are  comic  about  mothers-in-law,  the  very  boot- 
blacks have  your  solicitude,  but  you  ignore  their 
complements  in  the  softer  sex. 

"  Yet  you  call  yourselves  a  society  for  suppress- 
ing excrescences  I  Your  president  tells  me  you  are 
at  present  inquiring  for  the  address  of  the  man  who 
signs  himself '  Paterfamilias  '  in  the  '  Times ' ;  but 
the  letters  from  '  A  British  Matron '  are  of  no  ac- 
count. 

"  I  do  not  need  to  be  told  how  Dr.  Smith,  the 
fashionable  physician,  was  precipitated  down  that 
area  the  other  day;  but  what  I  do  ask  is,  why 
should  he  be  taken  and  all  the  lady  doctors  left  ? 

"  Their  degrees  are  as  good  as  his.  You  are 
too  '  manly,'  you  say,  to  arrest  their  course.  Is  in- 
justice manliness?  We  have  another  name  for 
it.     We  say  you  want  the  pluck. 

"  I  suppose  every  one  of  you  has  been  reading  a 
very  able  address  recently  delivered  at  the  meeting 
of  the  Social  Science  Congress.  I  refer  to  my  friend 
Mrs.  Kendal's  paper  on  the  moral  aspect  of  the 
drama  in  this  country. 

"  It  is  a  powerful  indictment  of  the  rank  and  file 
of  her  professional  brothers  and  sisters,  and  nowhere 
sadder,  more  impressive,  or  more  unanswerable 
than  where  she  speaks  of  the  involuntary  fall  of 

^34 


BETTER   DEAD 

the  actor  into  social  snobbishness  and  professional 
clap-trap. 

"- 1  do  not  know  how  the  paper  affected  you. 
But  since  reading  it  I  have  asked  in  despair,  how 
can  this  gifted  lady  continue  to  pick  her  way  be- 
tween the  snares  with  which  the  stage  is  beset  ? 

''  Is  it  possible  that  the  time  may  come  when 
she  will  advertise  by  photographs  and  beg  from 
reporters  the  '  pars '  she  now  so  scathingly  criti- 
cises '?  Nay,  when  I  look  upon  the  drop  scene  at 
the  St.  James's  Theatre,  I  ask  myself  if  the  dete- 
rioration has  not  already  set  in. 

"  Gentlemen,  is  this  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
you^  But  why  do  I  ask^  Has  not  Mrs.  Lynn 
Linton  another  article  in  the  new  'Nineteenth 
Century '  that  makes  her  worthy  your  attention  ? 
They  are  women,  and  the  sex  is  outside  your 
sphere." 

It  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when  Mrs.  Fawcett 
finished  her  address,  and  the  society  had  adopted 
the  good  old  rule  of  getting  to  bed  betimes.  Thus 
it  was  afterwards  that  Andrew  learned  how  long 
and  carefully  the  society  had  already  considered 
the  advisability  of  giving  women  equal  rights 
with  men. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  chambers  the  president 
slipped  something  into  his  hand.  He  held  it  there 
until  he  reached  his  room. 

On  the  way  a  man  struck  against  him,  scanned 


BETTER   DEAD 

him  piercingly,  and  then  shuffled  off.  He  was 
muffled  up,  but  Andrew  wondered  if  he  had  not 
seen  him  at  the  meeting. 

The  young  Scotchman  had  an  uneasy  feeHng 
that  his  footsteps  were  dodged. 

As  soon  as  he  reached  home  he  unfolded  the 
scrap  of  paper  that  had  been  pushed  into  his  hand. 
It  merely  contained  these  words  — 

"  Cover  up  your  neck." 


236 


CHAPTER   V 

On  the  following  Tuesday  Andrew  met  the  presi- 
dent by  appointment  at  the  Marble  Arch. 

Until  he  had  received  his  final  instructions  he 
was  pledged  not  to  begin,  and  he  had  passed  these 
two  intervening  days  staring  at  his  empty  fire- 
place. 

They  shook  hands  silently  and  passed  into  the 
Park.  The  president  was  always  thoughtful  in  a 
crowd. 

"In  such  a  gathering  as  this,"  said  Andrew, 
pointing  an  imaginary  pistol  at  a  lecturer  on  Social- 
ism, "  you  could  hardly  go  wrong  to  let  fly." 

"  You  must  not  speak  like  that,"  the  president 
said  gently,  "or  we  shall  soon  lose  you.  Your 
remark,  however,  opens  the  way  for  what  I  have  to 
say.  You  have  never  expressed  any  curiosity  as 
to  your  possible  fate.  I  hope  this  is  not  because 
you  under-estimate  the  risks.  If  the  authorities 
saw  you  '  letting  fly  '  as  you  term  it,  promiscu- 
ously, or  even  at  a  given  object,  they  would  treat 
you  as  no  better  than  a  malefactor." 

237 


BETTER   DEAD 

"I  thought  that  all  out  yesterday,"  said  An- 
drew, "and  I  am  amazed  at  the  society's  success 
in  escaping  detection." 

"  I  feared  this,"  said  the  president.  "  You  are 
mistaken.  We  don't  always  escape  detection. 
Sometimes  we  are  caught  —  " 

"  Caught  ^?  " 

"  Yes,  and  hanged." 

"  But  if  that  is  so,  why  does  it  not  get  into  the 
papers  ?  " 

"  The  papers  are  full  of  it." 

Andrew  looked  incredulous. 

"  In  the  present  state  of  the  law,"  said  the  presi- 
dent, "  motive  in  a  murder  goes  for  nothing 
However  iniquitous  this  may  be  —  and  I  do  not. 
attempt  to  defend  it  —  we  accept  it  as  a  fact. 
Your  motives  may  have  been  unexceptionable, 
but  they  hang  you  all  the  same.  Thus  our  mem- 
bers when  apprehended  preserve  silence  on  this 
point,  or  say  that  they  are  Fenians.  This  is  to 
save  the  society.  The  man  who  got  fifteen  years 
the  other  day  for  being  found  near  St.  Stephen's 
with  six  infernal  machines  in  his  pockets  was  real- 
ly one  of  us.    He  was  taking  them  to  be  repaired." 

"And  the  other  who  got  ten  years  the  week 
before  T' 

"  He  was  from  America,  but  it  was  for  one  of 
our  affairs  that  he  was  sentenced.  He  was  quite 
innocent.      You  see  the  dynamiters,  vulgarly  so 

238 


BETTER   DEAD 

called,  are  playing  into  our  hands.  Suspicion 
naturally  falls  on  them.     He  was  our  fifth." 

"I  had  no  idea  of  this,"  murmured  Andrew. 

"  You  see  what  a  bad  name  does,"  said  the 
president.  "  Let  this  be  a  warning  to  you,  An- 
drew." 

"  But  is  this  quite  fair  ?  " 

"  As  for  that,  they  like  it  —  the  leading  spirits, 
I  mean.  It  gives  them  a  reputation.  Besides, 
they  hurt  as  well  as  help  us.  It  was  after  their  ap- 
pearance that  the  authorities  were  taught  to  be 
distrustful.  You  have  little  idea  of  the  precautions 
taken  nowadays.  There  is  Sir  William  Harcourt, 
for  instance,  who  is  attended  by  policemen  every- 
where. I  used  to  go  home  from  the  House  behind 
him  nightly,  but  I  could  never  get  him  alone.  I 
have  walked  in  the  very  shadow  of  that  man,  but 
always  in  a  company." 

"  You  were  never  arrested  yourself? "  asked 
Andrew. 

"  I  was  once,  but  we  substituted  a  probationer." 

"  Then  did  he  —  was  he  —  " 

"  Yes,  poor  fellow." 

"  Is  that  often  done  '^  " 

"  Sometimes.  You  perhaps  remember  the  man 
who  went  over  the  Embankment  the  night  we  met  ? 
Well,  if  I  had  been  charged  with  that,  you  would 
have  had  to  be  hanged." 

Andrew  took  a  seat  to  collect  his  thoughts. 

239 


BETTER   DEAD 

"  Was  that  why  you  seemed  to  take  to  me  so 
much  ?  "  he  asked,  wistfully. 

"  It  was  only  one  reason,"  said  the  president, 
soothingly.     "  I  liked  you  from  the  first." 

"  But  I  don't  see,"  said  Andrew,  "  why  I  should 
have  suffered  for  your  action." 

For  the  moment,  his  veneration  for  this  remark- 
able man  hung  in  the  balance. 

"  It  would  have  been  for  the  society's  sake,"  said 
the  president,  simply;  "  probationers  are  hardly 
missed." 

His  face  wore  a  pained  look,  but  there  was  no 
reproach  in  his  voice. 

Andrew  was  touched. 

He  looked  the  apology,  which,  as  a  Scotchman, 
he  could  not  go  the  length  of  uttering. 

"  Before  I  leave  you  to-day,"  said  the  president, 
turning  to  a  pleasanter  subject,  "  I  shall  give  you 
some  money.  We  do  not,  you  understand,  pay 
our  probationers  a  fixed  salary." 

"  It  is  more,  is  it  not,"  said  Andrew,  "  in  the 
nature  of  a  scholarship  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  scholarship  —  for  the  endowment  of  re- 
search. You  see  we  do  not  tie  you  down  to  any 
particular  line  of  study.  Still,  I  shall  be  happy  to 
hear  of  any  programme  you  may  have  drawn  up." 

Andrew  hesitated.  He  did  not  know  that,  to 
the  president,  he  was  an  open  book. 

"  I  dare  say  I  can  read  your  thoughts,"  said  his 
240 


BETTER   DEAD 

companion.  "  There  is  an  eminent  person  whom 
you  would  Hke  to  make  your  first  ?  " 

Andrew  admitted  that  this  was  so. 

"  I  do  not  ask  any  confidences  of  you,"  continued 
the  president,  "nor  shall  I  discourage  ambition. 
But  I  hope,  Andrew,  you  have  only  in  view  the 
greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number.  At  such  a 
time,  it  is  well  for  the  probationer  to  ask  him- 
self two  questions :  Is  it  not  self-glorification  that 
prompts  me  to  pick  this  man  out  from  among  so 
many*?  and.  Am  I  actuated  by  any  personal  ani- 
mosity ?  If  you  cannot  answer  both  these  ques- 
tions in  the  negative,  it  is  time  to  ask  a  third, 
Should  I  go  on  with  this  undertaking?  " 

"  In  this  case,"  said  Andrew,  "  I  do  not  think  it 
is  self-glory,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  not  spite.  He  is 
a  man  I  have  a  very  high  opinion  of" 

"A  politician?  Remember  that  we  are  above 
party  considerations." 

"  He  is  a  politician,"  said  Andrew,  reluctantly, 
"  but  it  is  his  politics  I  admire." 

"  And  you  are  sure  his  time  has  come  ?  Then 
how  do  you  propose  to  set  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  thought  of  calling  at  his  house,  and  putting 
it  to  him." 

The  president's  countenance  fell. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  "  that  may  answer.  But 
there  is  no  harm  in  bearing  in  mind  that  persua- 
sion is  not  necessarily  a  passive  force.     Without 

241 


BETTER   DEAD 

going  the  length  of  removing  him  yourself,  you 
know,  you  could  put  temptation  in  his  way." 

"  If  I  know  my  man,"  said  Andrew,  "  that  will 
not  be  required." 

The  president  had  drunk  life's  disappointments 
to  the  dregs,  but  it  was  not  in  his  heart  to  damp 
the  youth's  enthusiasm. 

Experience  he  knew  to  be  a  commodity  for 
which  we  pay  a  fancy  price. 

"  After  that,"  said  Andrew,  "  I  thought  of  Henry 
Irving." 

"  We  don't  kill  actors,"  his  companion  said. 

It  was  Andrew's  countenance's  turn  to  fall  now. 

"  We  don't  have  time  for  it,"  the  president  ex- 
plained. "  When  the  society  was  instituted,  we 
took  a  few  of  them,  but  merely  to  get  our  hands 
in.  We  didn't  want  to  bungle  good  cases,  you 
see,  and  it  did  not  matter  so  much  for  them." 

"  How  did  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  We  waited  at  the  stage-door,  and  went  off 
with  the  first  person  who  came  out,  male  or  female." 

"  But  I  understood  you  did  not  take  up  women?" 

"  Nor  do  we.  Theatrical  people  constitute  a 
sex  by  themselves  —  like  curates." 

"  Then  can't  I  even  do  the  man  who  stands  at 
the  theatre  doors,  all  shirt-front  and  diamonds  ?  " 

The  president  shivered. 

"  If  you  happen  to  be  passing,  at  any  rate,"  he 
said. 

242 


BETTER   DEAD 

"  And  surely  some  of  the  playwrights  would  be 
better  dead.     They  must  see  that  themselves." 

"  They  have  had  their  chance,"  said  the  presi- 
dent. Despite  his  nationality,  Andrew  had  not 
heard  the  story,  so  the  president  told  it  him. 

"  Many  years  ago,  when  the  drama  was  in  its  in- 
fancy, some  young  men  from  Stratford-on-Avon  and 
elsewhere  resolved  to  build  a  theatre  in  London. 

"  The  times,  however,  were  moral,  and  no  one 
would  imperil  his  soul  so  far  as  to  give  them  a 
site. 

"  One  night,  they  met  in  despair,  when  suddenly 
the  room  was  illumined  by  lightning,  and  they 
saw  the  devil  in  the  midst  of  them. 

"  He  has  always  been  a  large  proprietor  in 
London,  and  he  had  come  to  strike  a  bargain  with 
them.  They  could  have  as  many  sites  as  they 
chose,  on  one  condition.  Every  year  they  must 
send  him  a  dramatist. 

"  You  see  he  was  willing  to  take  his  chance  of 
the  players. 

"  The  compact  was  made,  and  up  to  the  present 
time  it  has  been  religiously  kept.  But  this  year, 
as  the  day  drew  near,  found  the  managers  very 
uneasy.  They  did  what  they  could.  They  for- 
warded the  best  man  they  had." 

"  What  happened '? "  asked  Andrew,  breath- 
lessly. 

"  The  devil  sent  him  back,"  said  the  president. 

243 


CHAPTER   VI 

It  was  one  Sunday  forenoon,  on  such  a  sunny  day 
as  slovenly  men  seize  upon  to  wash  their  feet  and 
have  it  over,  that  Andrew  set  out  to  call  on  Mr. 
Labouchere. 

The  leaves  in  the  squares  were  green,  and  the 
twittering  of  the  birds  among  the  boughs  was 
almost  gay  enough  to  charm  him  out  of  the  severity 
of  countenance  which  a  Scotchman  wears  on  a 
Sunday  with  his  blacks. 

Andrew  could  not  help  regarding  the  mother- 
of-pearl  sky  as  a  favourable  omen  Several  times 
he  caught  himself  becoming  light-hearted. 

He  got  the  great  Radical  on  the  door-step,  just 
setting  out  for  church. 

The  two  men  had  not  met  before,  but  Andrew 
was  a  disciple  in  the  school  in  which  the  other 
taught. 

Between  man  and  man  formal  introductions  are 
humbug. 

Andrew  explained  in  a  few  words  the  nature 
of  his  visit,  and  received  a  cordial  welcome. 

"  But  I  could  call  again,"  he  said,  observing 
the  hymn-book  in  the  other's  hand. 

^44 


BETTER   DEAD 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Labouchere  heartily;  ''it 
must  be  business  before  pleasure.   Mind  the  step." 

So  saying,  he  led  his  visitor  into  a  cheerful 
snuggery  at  the  back  of  the  house.  It  was  fur- 
nished with  a  careful  contempt  for  taste,  and  the 
first  thing  that  caught  Andrew's  eye  was  a  pot  of 
apple  jam  on  a  side  table. 

"  I  have  no  gum,"  Mr.  Labouchere  explained 
hastily. 

A  handsomely  framed  picture,  representing 
Truth  lying  drowned  at  the  bottom  of  a  well, 
stood  on  the  mantel-piece ;  indeed,  there  were 
many  things  in  the  room  that,  on  another  occasion, 
Andrew  would  have  been  interested  to  hear  the 
history  of 

He  could  not  but  know,  however,  that  at  pres- 
ent he  was  to  some  extent  an  intruder,  and  until 
he  had  fully  explained  his  somewhat  delicate  busi- 
ness he  would  not  feel  at  ease. 

Though  argumentative,  Andrew  was  essentially 
a  shy,  proud  man. 

It  was  very  like  Mr.  Labouchere  to  leave  him 
to  tell  his  story  in  his  own  way,  only  now  and 
then,  at  the  outset,  interjecting  a  humorous  re- 
mark, which  we  here  omit. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Andrew  earnestly,  "  that  you 
will  not  think  it  fulsome  on  my  part  to  say  how 
much  I  like  you.  In  your  public  utterances  you 
have  let  it  be  known  what  value  you  set  on  pretty 


BETTER   DEAD 

phrases ;  but  I  speak  the  blunt  truth,  as  you  have 
taught  it.  I  am  only  a  young  man,  perhaps 
awkward  and  unpolished — " 

Here  Andrew  paused,  but  as  Mr.  Labouchere 
did  not  say  anything  he  resumed. 

''  That  as  it  may  be,  I  should  like  you  to  know 
that  your  political  speeches  have  become  part  of 
my  life.  When  I  was  a  student  it  seemed  to  me 
that  the  Radicalism  of  so  called  advanced  thinkers 
was  a  half-hearted  sham ;  I  had  no  interest  in  poli- 
tics at  all  until  I  read  your  attack  —  one  of  them  — 
on  the  House  of  Lords.  That  day  marked  an 
epoch  in  my  life.  I  used  to  read  the  University 
library  copy  of  '  Truth '  from  cover  to  cover. 
Sometimes  I  carried  it  into  the  class-room. 
That  was  not  allowed.  I  took  it  up  my  waist- 
coat. In  those  days  I  said  that  if  I  wrote  a  book 
I  would  dedicate  it  to  you  without  permission, 
and  London,  when  I  came  to  it,  was  to  me  the 
town  where  you  lived." 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  this ;  indeed, 
Mr.  Labouchere's  single-hearted  enthusiasm  —  be 
his  politics  right  or  wrong  —  is  well  calculated  to 
fascinate  young  men. 

If  it  was  slightly  over-charged,  the  temptation 
was  great.  Andrew  was  keenly  desirous  of  carry- 
ing his  point,  and  he  wanted  his  host  to  see  that 
he  was  only  thinking  of  his  good. 

"  Well,  but  what  is  it  you  would  have  me  do  ?  " 
246 


BETTER   DEAD 

asked  Mr.  Labouchere,  who  often  had  claimants 
on  his  bounty  and  his  autographs. 

"  I  want  you,"  said  Andrew  eagerly,  "  to  die." 

The  two  men  looked  hard  at  each  other.  There 
was  not  even  a  clock  in  the  room  to  break  the 
silence.     At  last  the  statesman  spoke. 

"  Why  ?  "  he  asked. 

His  visitor  sank  back  in  his  chair  relieved. 

He  had  put  all  his  hopes  in  the  other's  common- 
sense. 

It  had  never  failed  Mr.  Labouchere,  and  now  it 
promised  not  to  fail  Andrew. 

"  I  am  anxious  to  explain  that,"  the  young  man 
said  glibly.  "  If  you  can  look  at  yourself  with  the 
same  eyes  with  which  you  see  other  people,  it  won't 
take  long.  Make  a  looking-glass  of  me,  and  it  is 
done. 

''  You  have  now  reached  a  high  position  in  the 
worlds  of  politics  and  literature,  to  which  you  have 
cut  your  way  unaided. 

"  You  are  a  great  satirist,  combining  instruction 
with  amusement,  a  sort  of  comic  Carlyle. 

"  You  hate  shams  so  much  that  if  man  had  been 
constructed  for  it  I  dare  say  you  would  kick  at 
yourself 

"  You  have  your  enemies,  but  the  very  persons 
who  blunt  their  weapons  on  you  do  you  the  honour 
of  sharpening  them  on  '  Truth.'  In  short,  you 
have  reached  the  summit  of  your  fame,  and  you 

247 


BETTER   DEAD 

are  too  keen  a  man  of  the  world  not  to  know  that 
fame  is  a  touch-and-go  thing." 

Andrew  paused. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Mr.  Labouchere. 

"  Well,  you  have  now  got  fame,  honour,  every- 
thing for  which  it  is  legitimate  in  man  to  strive. 

"  So  far  back  as  I  can  remember,  you  have  had 
the  world  laughing  with  you.  But  you  know 
what  human  nature  is. 

"  There  comes  a  morning  to  all  wits,  when  their 
public  wakes  to  find  them  bores.  The  fault  may 
not  be  the  wit's,  but  what  of  that  *?  The  result  is 
the  same. 

"  Wits  are  like  theatres :  they  may  have  a  glo- 
rious youth  and  prime,  but  their  old  age  is  dismal. 
To  the  outsider,  like  myself,  signs  are  not  wanting 
—  to  continue  the  figure  of  speech  —  that  you 
have  put  on  your  last  successful  piece. 

"  Can  you  say  candidly  that  your  last  Christmas 
number  was  more  than  a  reflection  of  its  predeces- 
sors, or  that  your  remarks  this  year  on  the  Derby 
day  took  as  they  did  the  year  before  *? 

"  Surely  the  most  incisive  of  our  satirists  will 
not  let  himself  degenerate  into  an  illustration  of 
Mr.  Herbert  Spencer's  theory  that  man  repeats 
himself,  like  history. 

"  Mr.  Labouchere,  sir,  to  those  of  us  who  have 
grown  up  in  your  inspiration  it  would  indeed  be 
pitiful  if  this  were  so." 

248 


BETTER   DEAD 

Andrew's  host  turned  nervously  in  his  chair. 

Probably  he  wished  that  he  had  gone  to  church 
now. 

"  You  need  not  be  alarmed,"  he  said,  with  a 
forced  smile. 

"  You  will  die,"  cried  Andrew,  "  before  they 
send  you  to  the  House  of  Lords  *?  " 

"  In  which  case  the  gain  would  be  all  to  those 
left  behind." 

"  No,"  said  Andrew,  who  now  felt  that  he  had 
as  good  as  gained  the  day ;  "  there  could  not  be  a 
greater  mistake. 

"  Suppose  it  happened  to-night,  or  even  put  it 
off  to  the  end  of  the  week ;  see  what  would  follow. 

"  The  ground  you  have  lost  so  far  is  infinitesimal. 
It  would  be  forgotten  in  the  general  regret. 

"  Think  of  the  newspaper  placards  next  morn- 
ing, some  of  them  perhaps  edged  with  black ;  the 
leaders  in  every  London  paper  and  in  all  the  prom- 
inent provincial  ones;  the  six  columns  obituary 
in  the  '  Times ' ;  the  paragraphs  in  the  '  World  ' ; 
the  motion  by  Mr.  Gladstone  or  Mr.  Healy  for  the 
adjournment  of  the  House ;  the  magazine  articles ; 
the  promised  memoirs;  the  publication  of  post- 
humous papers ;  the  resolution  in  the  Northampton 
Town  Council ;  the  statue  in  Hyde  Park  I  With 
such  a  recompense  where  would  be  the  sacrifice  ?  " 

Mr.  Labouchere  rose  and  paced  the  room  in  great 
mental  agitation. 

249 


BETTER   DEAD 

"  Now  look  at  the  other  side  of  the  picture,"  said 
Andrew,  rising  and  following  him  :  "  '  Truth  '  re- 
duced to  threepence,  and  then  to  a  penny;  your- 
self confused  with  Tracy  Turnerelli  or  Martin 
Tupper;  your  friends  running  when  you  looked 
like  jesting;  the  House  emptying,  the  reporters 
shutting  their  note-books  as  you  rose  to  speak  ;  the 
great  name  of  Labouchere  become  a  synonym  for 
bore  I " 

They  presented  a  strange  picture  in  that  room, 
its  owner's  face  now  a  greyish  white,  his  supplicant 
shaking  with  a  passion  that  came  out  in  perspi- 
ration. 

With  trembling  hand  Mr.  Labouchere  flung 
open  the  window.     The  room  was  stifling. 

There  was  a  smell  of  new-mown  hay  in  the  air, 
a  gentle  breeze  tipped  the  well-trimmed  hedge 
with  life,  and  the  walks  crackled  in  the  heat. 

But  a  stone's  throw  distant  the  sun  was  bathing 
in  the  dimpled  Thames. 

There  was  a  cawing  of  rooks  among  the  tall 
trees,  and  a  church-bell  tinkled  in  the  ivy  far  away 
across  the  river. 

Mr.  Labouchere  was  far  away  too. 

He  was  a  round-cheeked  boy  again,  smothering 
his  kitten  in  his  pinafore,  prattling  of  Red  Riding 
Hood  by  his  school-mistress's  knee,  and  guddling 
in  the  brook  for  minnows. 

And  now  —  and  now  I 


BETTER   DEAD 

It  was  a  beautiful  world,  and,  ah,  life  is  sweet  I 

He  pressed  his  fingers  to  his  forehead. 

"Leave  me,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

Andrew  put  his  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  the 
man  he  loved  so  well. 

"  Be  brave,"  he  said ;  "  do  it  in  whatever  way 
you  prefer.  A  moment's  suffering,  and  all  will  be 
over." 

He  spoke  gently.  There  is  always  something 
infinitely  pathetic  in  the  sight  of  a  strong  man  in 
pain. 

Mr.  Labouchere  turned  upon  him. 

"  Go,"  he  cried,  "  or  I  will  call  the  servants." 

"  You  forget,"  said  Andrew,  "  that  I  am  your 
guest." 

But  his  host  only  pointed  to  the  door. 

Andrew  felt  a  great  sinking  at  his  heart.  They 
prate  who  say  it  is  success  that  tries  a  man.  He 
flung  himself  at  Mr.  Labouchere's  feet. 

"  Think  of  the  public  funeral,"  he  cried. 

His  host  seized  the  bell-rope  and  pulled  it 
violently. 

"  If  you  will  do  it,"  said  Andrew  solemnly,  "  I 
promise  to  lay  flowers  on  your  grave  every  day  till 
I  die." 

"  John,"  said  Mr.  Labouchere,  "  show  this  gen- 
tleman out." 

Andrew  rose. 

"  You  refuse  '^  "  he  asked. 
251 


BETTER   DEAD 

"  I  do." 

"  You  won't  think  it  over  ?  If  I  call  again,  say 
on  Thursday  —  " 

"John!"  said  Mr.  Labouchere. 

Andrew  took  up  his  hat.  His  host  thought  he 
had  gone.  But  in  the  hall  his  reflection  in  a  look- 
ing-glass reminded  the  visitor  of  something.  He 
put  his  head  in  at  the  doorway  again. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me,"  he  said,  "  whe- 
ther you  see  anything  peculiar  about  my  neck  ?  " 

"  It  seems  a  good  neck  to  twist,"  Mr.  Labouchere 
answered,  a  little  savagely. 

Andrew  then  withdrew. 


2  C2 


CHAPTER   VII 

This  unexpected  rebuff  from  Mr.  Labouchere 
rankled  for  many  days  in  Andrew's  mind.  Had 
he  been  proposing  for  the  great  statesman's  hand 
he  could  not  have  felt  it  more.  Perhaps  he  did 
not  make  sufficient  allowance  for  Mr.  Labouchere ; 
it  is  always  so  easy  to  advise. 

But  to  rage  at  a  man  (or  woman)  is  the  proof 
that  we  can  adore  them ;  it  is  only  his  loved  ones 
who  infuriate  a  Scotchman. 

There  were  moments  when  Andrew  said  to  him- 
self that  he  had  nothing  more  to  live  for. 

Then  he  would  upbraid  himself  for  having  gone 
about  it  too  hurriedly,  and  in  bitter  self-contempt 
strike  his  hand  on  the  railings,  as  he  rushed  by. 

Work  is  the  sovereign  remedy  for  this  unhealthy 
state  of  mind,  and  fortunately  Andrew  had  a  great 
deal  to  do. 

Gradually  the  wound  healed,  and  he  began  to 
take  an  interest  in  Lord  Randolph  Churchill. 

Every  day  the  Flying  Scotchman  shoots  its 
refuse  of  clever  young  men  upon  London  who 
are  too  ambitious  to  do  anything. 

253 


BETTER   DEAD 

Andrew  was  not  one  of  these. 

Seeking  to  carry  off  one  of  the  greatest  prizes 
in  his  profession,  he  had  aimed  too  high  for  a 
beginner. 

When  he  reahsed  this  he  apprenticed  himself, 
so  to  speak,  to  the  president,  determined  to  acquire 
a  practical  knowledge  of  his  art  in  all  its  branches. 
Though  a  very  young  man,  he  had  still  much  to 
learn.  It  was  only  in  his  leisure  moments  that  he 
gave  way  to  dreams  over  a  magnum  opus. 

But  when  he  did  set  about  it,  which  must  be 
before  his  period  of  probation  closed,  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  be  thorough. 

The  months  thus  passed  quietly  but  not  un- 
profitably  in  assisting  the  president,  acquainting 
himself  with  the  favourite  resorts  of  interesting 
persons  and  composing  his  thesis. 

At  intervals  the  monotony  was  relieved  by  more 
strictly  society  work.  On  these  occasions  he  played 
a  part  not  dissimilar  to  that  of  a  junior  counsel. 

The  president  found  him  invaluable  in  his  raid 
on  the  gentlemen  with  umbrellas  who  read  news- 
papers in  the  streets. 

It  was  Andrew  —  though  he  never  got  the  credit 
of  it  —  who  put  his  senior  in  possession  of  the 
necessary  particulars  about  the  comic  writers  whose 
subject  is  teetotalism  and  spinsters. 

He  was  unwearying,  indeed,  in  his  efforts  with 
regard  to  the  comic  journals  generally,  and  the  first 

254 


BETTER   DEAD 

man  of  any  note  that  he  disposed  of  was  "  Punch's  " 
favourite  artist  on  Scotch  matters.  This  was  in  an 
alley  off  Fleet  Street. 

Andrew  took  a  new  interest  in  the  House  of 
Lords,  and  had  a  magnificent  scheme  for  ending  it 
in  half  an  hour. 

As  the  members  could  never  be  got  together  in 
any  number,  this  fell  through. 

Lord  Brabourne  will  remember  the  young  man 
in  a  straw  hat,  with  his  neck  covered  up,  who  at- 
tended the  House  so  regularly  when  it  was  an- 
nounced that  he  was  to  speak.    That  was  Andrew. 

It  was  he  who  excitedly  asked  the  Black  Rod 
to  point  out  Lord  Sherbrooke,  when  it  was  inti- 
mated that  this  peer  was  preparing  a  volume  of 
poems  for  the  press. 

In  a  month's  time  Andrew  knew  the  likeliest 
places  to  meet  these  and  other  noble  lords  alone. 

The  publishing  offices  of  "England,"  the  only 
Conservative  newspaper,  had  a  fascination  for  him. 

He  got  to  know  Mr.  Ashmead  Bartlett's  hours  of 
calling,  until  the  sight  of  him  on  the  pavement  was 
accepted  as  a  token  that  the  proprietor  was  inside. 

They  generally  reached  the  House  of  Commons 
about  the  same  time. 

Here  Andrew's  interest  was  discriminated  among 
quite  a  number  of  members.  Mr.  Bradlaugh,  Mr. 
Sexton,  and  Mr.  Marjoribanks,  the  respected  mem- 
ber for  Berwickshire,  were  perhaps  his  favourites ; 


BETTER   DEAD 

but  the  one  he  dwelt  with  most  pride  on  was  Lord 
Randolph  Churchill. 

One  night  he  gloated  so  long  over  Sir  George 
Trevelyan  leaning  over  Westminster  Bridge  that 
in  the  end  he  missed  him. 

When  Andrew  made  up  his  mind  to  have  a  man 
he  got  to  like  him.     This  was  his  danger. 

With  press  tickets,  which  he  got  very  cheap,  he 
often  looked  in  at  the  theatres  to  acquaint  him- 
self with  the  faces  and  figures  of  the  constant  fre- 
quenters. 

He  drew  capital  pencil  sketches  of  the  leading 
critics  in  his  note-book. 

The  gentleman  next  him  that  night  at  "  Man- 
teaux  Noirs  "  would  not  have  laughed  so  heartily 
if  he  had  known  why  Andrew  listened  for  his  ad- 
dress to  the  cabman. 

The  young  Scotchman  resented  people's  merri- 
ment over  nothing ;  sometimes  he  took  the  Under- 
ground Railway  just  to  catch  clerks  at  "  Tit-Bits." 

One  afternoon  he  saw  some  way  in  front  of  him 
in  Piccadilly  a  man  with  a  young  head  on  old 
shoulders. 

Andrew  recognized  him  by  the  swing  of  his 
stick ;  he  could  have  identified  his  plaid  among  a 
hundred  thousand  morning  coats.  It  was  John 
Stuart  Blackie,  his  favourite  professor. 

Since  the  young  man  graduated,  his  old  precep- 
tor had  resigned  his  chair,  and  was  now  devoting 

256 


BETTER   DEAD 

his  time  to  writing  sonnets  to  himself  in  the  Scotch 
newspapers. 

Andrew  could  not  bear  to  think  of  it,  and  quick- 
ened his  pace  to  catch  him  up.  But  Blackie  was 
in  great  form,  humming  "  Scots  wha  hae."  With 
head  thrown  back,  staff  revolving  and  chest  inflated, 
he  sang  himself  into  a  martial  ecstasy,  and,  drum- 
ming cheerily  on  the  doors  with  his  fist,  strutted 
along  like  a  band  of  bagpipers  with  a  clan  behind 
him,  until  he  had  played  himself  out  of  Andrew's 
sight. 

Far  be  it  from  our  intention  to  maintain  that 
Andrew  was  invariably  successful.  That  is  not 
given  to  any  man. 

Sometimes  his  hands  slipped. 

Had  he  learned  the  piano  in  his  younger  days 
this  might  not  have  happened.  But  if  he  had  been 
a  pianist  the  president  would  probably  have  wiped 
him  out  —  and  very  rightly.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  about  male  pianists. 

Nor  was  the  fault  always  Andrew's.  When  the 
society  was  founded,  many  far-seeing  men  had 
got  wind  of  it,  and  had  themselves  elected  honor- 
ary members  before  the  committee  realised  what 
they  were  after. 

This  was  a  sore  subject  with  the  president ;  he 
shunned  discussing  it,  and  thus  Andrew  had  fre- 
quently to  discontinue  cases  after  he  was  well  on 
with  them. 

257 


BETTER   DEAD 

In  this  way  much  time  was  lost. 

Andrew  was  privately  thanked  by  the  committee 
for  one  suggestion,  which,  for  all  he  knows,  may 
yet  be  carried  out.  The  president  had  a  wide 
interest  in  the  press,  and  on  one  occasion  he  re- 
marked to  Andrew : 

"  Think  of  the  snobs  and  the  prigs  who  would 
be  saved  if  the  '  Saturday  Review  '  and  the  '  Spec- 
tator '  could  be  induced  to  cease  publication  I " 

Andrew  thought  it  out,  and  then  produced  his 
scheme. 

The  battle  of  the  clans  on  the  North  Inch  of 
Perth  had  always  seemed  to  him  a  master-stroke 
of  diplomacy. 

"  Why,"  he  said  to  the  president,  "  not  set  the 
'  Saturday's  '  staff  against  the  '  Spectator's.'  If 
about  equally  matched,  they  might  exterminate 
each  other." 

So  his  days  of  probation  passed,  and  the  time 
drew  nigh  for  Andrew  to  show  what  stuff  was  in 
him. 


258 


CHAPTER   VIII 

Andrew  had  set  apart  July  31  for  killing  Lord 
Randolph  Churchill. 

As  his  term  of  probation  was  up  in  the  second 
week  of  August,  this  would  leave  him  nearly  a 
fortnight  to  finish  his  thesis  in. 

On  the  30th  he  bought  a  knife  in  Holborn  suit- 
able for  his  purpose.  It  had  been  his  original  in- 
tention to  use  an  electric  rifle,  but  those  he  was 
shown  were  too  cumbrous  for  use  in  the  streets. 

The  eminent  statesman  was  residing  at  this  time 
at  the  Grand  Hotel,  and  Andrew  thought  to  get 
him  somewhere  between  Trafalgar  Square  and  the 
House.  Taking  up  his  position  in  a  window  of 
Motley's  Hotel  at  an  early  hour,  he  set  himself  to 
watch  the  windows  opposite.  The  plan  of  the 
Grand  was  well  known  to  him,  for  he  had  fre- 
quently made  use  of  it  as  overlooking  the  National 
Liberal  Club,  whose  membership  he  had  already 
slightly  reduced. 

Turning  his  eyes  to  the  private  sitting-rooms,  he 
soon  discovered  Lord  Randolph  busily  writing  in 
one  of  them. 

Andrew  had  lunch  at  Motley's,  so  that  he  might 
259 


BETTER   DEAD 

be  prepared  for  any  emergency.  Lord  Randolph 
wrote  on  doggedly  through  the  forenoon,  and  An- 
drew hoped  he  would  finish  what  he  was  at  in  case 
this  might  be  his  last  chance. 

It  rained  all  through  the  afternoon.  The  thick 
drizzle  seemed  to  double  the  width  of  the  street, 
and  even  to  Andrew's  strained  eyes  the  shadow  in 
the  room  opposite  was  obscured. 

His  eyes  wandered  from  the  window  to  the  hotel 
entrance,  and  as  cab  after  cab  rattled  from  it  he  be- 
came uneasy. 

In  ordinary  circumstances  he  could  have  picked 
his  man  out  anywhere,  but  in  rain  all  men  look 
alike.  He  could  have  dashed  across  the  street  and 
rushed  from  room  to  room  of  the  Grand  Hotel. 

His  self-restraint  was  rewarded. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Lord  Randolph  came  to 
the  window.  The  flashing  waterproofs  and  scur- 
rying umbrellas  were  a  surprise  to  him,  and  he 
knitted  his  brows  in  annoyance. 

By-and-by  his  face  was  convulsed  with  laughter. 

He  drew  a  chair  to  the  window  and  stood  on  it. 
that  he  might  have  a  better  view  of  the  pavement 
beneath. 

For  some  twenty  minutes  he  remained  there 
smacking  his  thighs,  his  shoulders  heaving  with 
glee. 

Andrew  could  not  see  what  it  was,  but  he  for- 
mulated a  theory. 

260 


BETTER   DEAD 

Heavy  blobs  of  rain  that  had  gathered  on  the 
window-sill  slowly  released  their  hold  from  time  to 
time  and  fell  with  a  plump  on  the  hats  of  passers- 
by.     Lord  Randolph  was  watching  them. 

Just  as  they  were  letting  go  he  shook  the  win- 
dow to  make  the  wayfarers  look  up.  They  got  the 
rain-drops  full  in  the  face,  and  then  he  screamed. 

About  six  o'clock  Andrew  paid  his  bill  hur- 
riedly and  ran  downstairs.  Lord  Randolph  had 
come  to  the  window  in  his  greatcoat.  His  fol- 
lower waited  for  him  outside.  It  was  possible 
that  he  would  take  a  hansom  and  drive  straight  to 
the  House,  but  Andrew  had  reasons  for  thinking 
this  unlikely.  The  rain  had  somewhat  abated. 
Lord  Randolph  came  out,  put  up  his  umbrella, 
and,  glancing  at  the  sky  for  a  moment,  set  off 
briskly  up  St.  Martin's  Lane. 

Andrew  knew  that  he  would  not  linger  here, 
for  they  had  done  St.  Martin's  Lane  already. 

Lord  Randolph's  movements  these  last  days  had 
excited  the  Scotchman's  curiosity.  He  had  been 
doing  the  London  streets  systematically  during 
his  unoccupied  afternoons.  But  it  was  difficult  to 
discover  what  he  was  after. 

It  was  the  tobacconists'  shops  that  attracted  him. 

He  did  not  enter,  only  stood  at  the  windows 
counting  something. 

He  jotted  down  the  result  on  a  piece  of  paper 
and  then  sped  on  to  the  next  shop. 

261 


BETTER   DEAD 

In  this  way,  with  Andrew  at  his  heels,  he  had 
done  the  whole  of  the  W.  C.  district,  St.  James's, 
Oxford  Street,  Piccadilly,  Bond  Street,  and  the 
Burlington  Arcade. 

On  this  occasion  he  took  the  small  thorough- 
fares lying  between  upper  Regent  Street  and  Tot- 
tenham Court  Road.  Beginning  in  Great  Titch- 
field  Street  he  went  from  tobacconist's  to  tobacco- 
nist's, sometimes  smiling  to  himself,  at  other  times 
frowning.  Andrew  scrutinised  the  windows  as  he 
left  them,  but  could  make  nothing  of  it. 

Not  for  the  first  time  he  felt  that  there  could  be 
no  murder  to-night  unless  he  saw  the  paper  first. 

Lord  Randolph  devoted  an  hour  to  this  work. 
Then  he  hailed  a  cab. 

Andrew  expected  this.  But  the  statesman  still 
held  the  paper  loosely  in  his  hand. 

It  was  a  temptation. 

Andrew  bounded  forward  as  if  to  open  the  cab 
door,  pounced  upon  the  paper  and  disappeared 
with  it  up  an  alley.  After  five  minutes'  dread  lest 
he  might  be  pursued,  he  struck  a  match  and  read : 

"Great  Titchfield  Street  —  Branscombe  15, 
Churchill   11,  Langtry  8,  Gladstone  4. 

"Mortimer  Street  —  Langtry  11,  Branscombe 
9,  Gladstone  6,  Mary  Anderson  6,  Churchill  3. 

"  Margaret  Street  —  Churchill  7,  Anderson  6, 
Branscombe  5,  Gladstone  4,  Chamberlain  4. 

"  Smaller  streets  —  Churchill  14,  Branscombe 
262 


BETTER   DEAD 

13,  Gladstone  9,  Langtry  9.  Totals  for  to-day: 
Churchill  35,  Langtry  28,  Gladstone  23,  Brans- 
combe  42,  Anderson  12,  Chamberlain  nowhere." 
Then  followed,  as  if  in  a  burst  of  passion,  "  Brans- 
combe  still  leading  —  confound  her." 

Andrew  saw  that  Lord  Randolph  had  been  cal- 
culating fame  from  vesta  boxes. 

For  a  moment  this  discovery  sent  Andrew's 
mind  wandering.  Miss  Branscombe's  photographs 
obstructed  the  traffic.  Should  not  this  be  put  a 
stop  to  ?     Ah,  but  she  was  a  woman  I 

This  recalled  him  to  himself  Lord  Randolph 
had  departed,  probably  for  St.  Stephen's. 

Andrew  jumped  into  a  hansom.  He  felt  like 
an  exotic  in  a  glass  frame. 

"The  House,"  he  said. 

What  a  pity  his  mother  could  not  have  seen 
him  then ! 

Perhaps  Andrew  was  prejudiced.  Undoubtedly 
he  was  in  a  mood  to  be  easily  pleased. 

In  his  opinion  at  any  rate.  Lord  Randolph's 
speech  that  night  on  the  Irish  question  was  the 
best  he  ever  delivered. 

It  came  on  late  in  the  evening,  and  he  stuck  to 
his  text  like  a  clergyman.  He  quoted  from  Han- 
sard to  prove  that  Mr.  Gladstone  did  not  know  what 
he  was  talking  about ;  he  blazed  out  against  the  Par- 
nellites  till  they  were  called  to  order.  The  ironical 
members  who  cried  "  Hear,  hear,"  regretted  it. 

263 


BETTER   DEAD 

He  had  never  been  wittier,  never  more  con- 
vincing, never  so  magnificently  vituperative. 

Andrew  was  lifted  out  of  himself.  He  jumped  in 
ecstasy  to  his  feet.    It  was  he  who  led  the  applause. 

He  felt  that  this  was  a  worthy  close  to  a  bril- 
liant career. 

We  oldsters  looking  on  more  coolly  could  have 
seen  where  the  speech  was  lacking,  so  far  as  An- 
drew was  concerned.  It  is  well  known  that  when 
a  great  man,  of  whom  there  will  be  biographers, 
is  to  die  a  violent  death,  his  last  utterances  are 
strangely  significant,  as  if  he  foresaw  his  end. 

There  was  nothing  of  this  in  Lord  Randolph's 
speech. 

The  House  was  thinning  when  the  noble  lord 
rose  to  go.     Andrew  joined  him  at  the  gate. 

The  Scotchman's  nervous  elation  had  all  gone. 
A  momentary  thrill  passed  through  his  veins  as  he 
remembered  that  in  all  probability  they  would  never 
be  together  again.     After  that  he  was  quite  calm. 

The  night  was  black. 

The  rain  had  ceased,  but  for  an  occasional  drop 
shaken  out  of  a  shivering  star. 

But  for  a  few  cabs  rolling  off  with  politicians, 
Whitehall  was  deserted. 

The  very  tax-collectors  seemed  to  have  got  to 
bed. 

Lord  Randolph  shook  hands  with  two  or  three 
other  members  homeward  bound,  walked  a  short 

264 


BETTER   DEAD 

distance  with  one  of  them,  and  then  set  off  towards 
his  hotel  alone. 

His  pace  was  leisurely,  as  that  of  a  man  in  pro- 
found thought. 

There  was  no  time  to  be  lost;  but  Andrew 
dallied. 

Once  he  crept  up  and  could  have  done  it.  He 
thought  he  would  give  him  another  minute. 

There  was  a  footstep  behind,  and  he  fell  back. 

It  was  Sir  William  Harcourt.  Lord  Randolph 
heard  him,  and,  seeing  who  it  was,  increased  his 
pace. 

The  illustrious  Liberal  slackened  at  the  same 
moment. 

Andrew  bit  his  lip  and  hurried  on. 

Some  time  was  lost  in  getting  round  Sir  William. 

He  was  advancing  in  strides  now. 

Lord  Randolph  saw  that  he  was  pursued. 

When  Andrew  began  to  run,  he  ran  too. 

There  were  not  ten  yards  between  them  at 
Whitehall  Place. 

A  large  man  turning  the  corner  of  Great  Scot- 
land Yard  fell  against  Andrew.  He  was  wheeled 
aside,  but  Mr.  Chaplin  had  saved  a  colleague's  life. 

With  a  cry  Andrew  bounded  on,  his  knife  glis- 
tening. 

Trafalgar  Square  was  a  black  mass. 

Lord  Randolph  took  Northumberland  Avenue 
in  four  steps,  Andrew  almost  on  the  top  of  him. 

265 


BETTER   DEAD 

As  he  burst  through  the  door  of  the  Grand 
Hotel,  his  pursuer  made  one  tremendous  leap,  and 
his  knife  catching  Lord  Randolph  in  the  heel,  car- 
ried away  his  shoe. 

Andrew's  face  had  struck  the  steps. 

He  heard  the  word  "  Fenian." 

There  was  a  rushing  to  and  fro  of  lights. 

Springing  to  his  feet,  he  thrust  the  shoe  into  his 
pocket  and  went  home. 


266 


CHAPTER   IX 

"  Tie  this  muffler  round  your  neck." 

It  was  the  president  who  spoke.  Andrew  held 
his  thesis  in  his  hand. 

"  But  the  rooms  are  so  close,"  he  said. 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  said  the  presi- 
dent. The  blood  rushed  to  his  head,  and  then  left 
him  pale. 

"  But  why  ?  "  asked  Andrew. 

"  For  God's  sake,  do  as  I  bid  you,"  said  his  com- 
panion, pulling  himself  by  a  great  effort  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room. 

"  You  have  done  it  *?  "  he  asked,  carefully  avoid- 
ing Andrew's  face. 

"Yes,  but  —  " 

"  Then  we  can  go  in  to  the  others.  Remember 
what  I  told  you  about  omitting  the  first  seven 
pages.  The  society  won't  stand  introductory  re- 
marks in  a  thesis." 

The  committee  were  assembled  in  the  next 
room. 

When  the  young  Scotchman  entered  with  the 
president,  they  looked  him  full  in  the  neck. 

267 


BETTER   DEAD 

"  He  is  suffering  from  cold,"  the  president  said. 

No  one  replied,  but  angry  eyes  were  turned  on 
the  speaker.  He  somewhat  nervously  placed  his 
young  friend  in  a  bad  light,  with  a  table  between 
him  and  his  hearers. 

Then  Andrew  began. 

"  The  Society  for  Doing  Without,"  he  read,  "  has 
been  tried  and  found  wanting.  It  has  now  been 
in  existence  for  some  years,  and  its  members  have 
worked  zealously,  though  unostentatiously. 

"  I  am  far  from  saying  a  word  against  them. 
They  are  patriots  as  true  as  ever  petitioned  against 
the  Channel  Tunnel." 

"No  compliments,"  whispered  the  president, 
warningly.  Andrew  hastily  turned  a  page,  and 
continued  : 

"  But  what  have  they  done  ^  Removed  an  indi- 
vidual here  and  there.     That  is  the  extent  of  it. 

"  You  have  been  pursuing  a  half-hearted  policy. 
You  might  go  on  for  centuries  at  this  rate  before 
you  made  any  perceptible  difference  in  the  streets. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  a  farmer  thinning  turnips '? 
Gentlemen,  there  is  an  example  for  you.  My  pro- 
posal is  that  everybody  should  have  to  die  on 
reaching  the  age  of  forty-five  years. 

"  It  has  been  the  wish  of  this  society  to  avoid  the 
prejudices  engendered  of  party  strife.  But  though 
you  are  a  social  rather  than  a  political  organisation, 
you  cannot  escape  politics.     You  do  not  call  your- 

268 


BETTER   DEAD 

selves  Radicals,  but  you  work  for  Radicalism. 
What  is  Radicalism  ?  It  is  a  desire  to  get  a  chance. 
This  is  an  aspiration  inherent  in  the  human  breast. 
It  is  felt  most  keenly  by  the  poor. 

"  Make  the  poor  rich,  and  the  hovels,  the  misery, 
the  immorality,  and  the  crime  of  the  East  End 
disappear.  It  is  infamous,  say  the  Socialists,  that 
this  is  not  done  at  once.  Yes,  but  how  is  it  to  be 
done  ?  Not,  as  they  hold,  by  making  the  classes 
and  the  masses  change  places.  Not  on  the  lines 
on  which  the  society  has  hitherto  worked.  There 
is  only  one  way,  and  I  make  it  my  text  to-night. 
Fortunately,  it  presents  no  considerable  difficulties. 

"  It  is  well  known  in  medicine  that  the  simplest 
—  in  other  words,  the  most  natural  —  remedies 
may  be  the  most  efficacious. 

"  So  it  is  in  the  social  life.  What  shall  we  do. 
Society  asks,  with  our  boys?  I  reply.  Kill  off 
the  parents. 

"  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  forty-five  years 
is  long  enough  for  a  man  to  live.  Parents  must 
see  that.     Youth  is  the  time  to  have  your  fling. 

"  Let  us  see  how  this  plan  would  revolutionise 
the  world.  It  would  make  statesmen  hurry  up. 
At  present,  they  are  nearly  fifty  before  you  hear  of 
them.  How  can  we  expect  the  country  to  be 
properly  governed  by  men  in  their  dotage  ? 

"  Again,  take  the  world  of  letters.  Why  does 
the  literary  aspirant  have  such  a  struggle  ?  Simply 

269 


BETTER   DEAD 

because  the  profession  is  over-stocked  with  seniors. 
I  would  like  to  know  what  Tennyson's  age  is,  and 
Ruskin's,  and  Browning's.  Every  one  of  them  is 
over  seventy,  and  all  writing  away  yet  as  lively  as 
you  like.     It  is  a  crying  scandal. 

"  Things  are  the  same  in  medicine,  art,  divinity, 
law  —  in  short,  in  every  profession  and  in  every 
trade. 

"  Young  ladies  cry  out  that  this  is  not  a  marry- 
ing age.  How  can  it  be  a  marrying  age,  with 
grey-headed  parents  everywhere  *?  Give  young 
men  their  chance,  and  they  will  marry  younger 
than  ever,  if  only  to  see  their  children  grown  up 
before  they  die. 

"  A  word  in  conclusion.  Looking  around  me, 
I  cannot  but  see  that  most,  if  not  all,  of  my  hearers 
have  passed  what  should  plainly  be  the  allotted 
span  of  life  to  man.     You  would  have  to  go. 

"  But,  gentlemen,  you  would  do  so  feeling  that 
you  were  setting  a  noble  example.  Younger,  and 
—  may  I  say  *?  —  more  energetic  men  would  fill 
your  places  and  carry  on  your  work.  You  would 
hardly  be  missed." 

Andrew  rolled  up  his  thesis  blandly,  and  strode 
into  the  next  room  to  await  the  committee's  deci- 
sion. It  cannot  be  said  that  he  felt  the  slightest 
uneasiness. 

The  president  followed,  shutting  the  door  behind 
him. 

270 


BETTER   DEAD 

"  You  have  just  two  minutes,"  he  said. 

Andrew  could  not  understand  it. 

His  hat  was  crushed  on  to  his  head,  his  coat 
flung  at  him ;  he  was  pushed  out  at  a  window, 
squeezed  through  a  grating  and  tumbled  into  a 
passage. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  he  asked,  as  the  presi- 
dent dragged  him  down  a  back  street. 

The  president  pointed  to  the  window  they  had 
just  left. 

Half  a  dozen  infuriated  men  were  climbing 
from  it  in  pursuit.  Their  faces,  drunk  with  rage, 
awoke  Andrew  to  a  sense  of  his  danger. 

"  They  were  drawing  lots  for  you  when  I  left 
the  room,"  said  the  president. 

"  But  what  have  I  done  *?  "  gasped  Andrew. 

"  They  didn't  like  your  thesis.  At  least,  they 
make  that  their  excuse." 

"  Excuse  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  was  really  your  neck  that  did  it." 

By  this  time  they  were  in  a  cab,  rattling  into 
Gray's  Inn  Road. 

"  They  are  a  poor  lot,"  said  Andrew  fiercely, 
"if  they  couldn't  keep  their  heads  over  my  neck." 

"  They  are  only  human,"  retorted  the  president. 
"  For  Heaven's  sake,  pull  up  the  collar  of  your 
coat." 

His  fingers  were  itching,  but  Andrew  did  not 
notice  it. 

271 


BETTER   DEAD 

"  Where  are  we  going  *?  "  he  asked. 

"  To  King's  Cross.  The  midnight  express  leaves 
in  twenty  minutes.     It  is  your  last  chance." 

Andrew  was  in  a  daze.  When  the  president  had 
taken  his  ticket  for  Glasgow  he  was  still  groping. 

The  railway  officials  probably  thought  him  on 
his  honeymoon. 

They  sauntered  along  the  platform  beyond  the 
lights. 

Andrew,  who  was  very  hot,  unloosened  his 
greatcoat. 

In  a  moment  a  great  change  came  over  his 
companion.  All  the  humanity  went  from  his 
face,  his  whole  figure  shook,  and  it  was  only  by 
a  tremendous  effort  that  he  chained  his  hands  to 
his  side. 

"  Your  neck,"  he  cried ;  "  cover  it  up." 

Andrew  did  not  understand.  He  looked  about 
him  for  the  committee. 

"  There  are  none  of  them  here,"  he  said  feebly. 

The  president  had  tried  to  warn  him. 

Now  he  gave  way. 

The  devil  that  was  in  him  leapt  at  Andrew's 
throat. 

The  young  Scotchman  was  knocked  into  a 
goods  waggon,  with  the  president  twisted  round 
him. 

At  that  moment  there  was  heard  the  whistle  of 
the  Scotch  express. 

272 


BETTER   DEAD 

"  Your  blood  be  on  your  own  head,"  cried  the 
president,  yielding  completely  to  temptation. 

His  fingers  met  round  the  young  man's  neck. 

"  My  God  I "  he  murmured,  in  a  delirious  ec- 
stasy, "  what  a  neck,  what  a  neck  I  " 

Just  then  his  foot  slipped. 

He  fell.  Andrew  jumped  up  and  kicked  him 
as  hard  as  he  could  three  times. 

Then  he  leapt  to  the  platform,  and,  flinging  him- 
self into  the  moving  train,  fell  exhausted  on  the 
seat. 

Andrew  never  thought  so  much  of  the  president 
again.     You  cannot  respect  a  man  and  kick  him. 


273 


CHAPTER   X 

The  first  thing  Andrew  did  on  reaching  Wheens 
was  to  write  to  his  London  landlady  to  send  on 
his  box  with  clothes  by  goods  train;  also  his 
tobacco  pouch,  which  he  had  left  on  the  mantel- 
piece, and  two  pencils  which  she  would  find  in  the 
tea-caddy. 

Then  he  went  around  to  the  manse. 

The  minister  had  great  news  for  him. 

The  master  of  the  Wheens  Grammar  School 
had  died.  Andrew  had  only  to  send  in  his  testi- 
monials, and  the  post  was  his. 

The  salary  was  ^200  per  annum,  with  an  assist- 
ant and  the  privilege  of  calling  himself  rector. 

This  settled,  Andrew  asked  for  Clarrie.  He 
was  humbler  now  than  he  had  been,  and  in  our 
disappointments  we  turn  to  woman  for  solace. 

Clarrie  had  been  working  socks  for  him,  and 
would  have  had  them  finished  by  this  time  had  she 
known  how  to  turn  the  heel. 

It  is  his  sweetheart  a  man  should  be  particular 
about.  Once  he  settles  down  it  does  not  much 
matter  whom  he  marries. 

274 


BETTER   DEAD 

All  this  and  much  more  the  good  old  minister 
pointed  out  to  Andrew.  Then  he  left  Clarrie  and 
her  lover  together. 

The  winsome  girl  held  one  of  the  socks  on  her 
knee  —  who  will  chide  her '?  —  and  a  tear  glistened 
in  her  eye. 

Andrew  was  a  good  deal  affected. 

"  Clarrie,"  he  said  softly,  "  will  you  be  my  wife  ?  " 

She  clung  to  him  in  reply.  He  kissed  her 
fondly. 

"Clarrie,  beloved,"  he  said  nervously,  after  a  long 
pause,  "  how  much  are  seven  and  thirteen?" 

"  Twenty-three,"  said  Clarrie,  putting  up  her 
mouth  to  his. 

Andrew  laughed  a  sad  vacant  laugh. 

He  felt  that  he  would  never  understand  a  woman. 
But  his  fingers  wandered  through  her  tobacco- 
coloured  hair. 

He  had  a  strange  notion. 

"  Put  your  arms  round  my  neck,"  he  whispered. 

Thus  the  old,  old  story  was  told  once  more. 

A  month  afterwards  the  president  of  the  Society 
for  Doing  Without  received  by  post  a  box  of 
bride-cake,  adorned  with  the  silver  gilt  which  is 
also  largely  used  for  coflSns. 

More  than  two  years  have  passed  since  An- 
drew's marriage,  and  already  the  minister  has  two 
sweet  grandchildren,  in  whom  he  renews  his  youth. 


BETTER   DEAD 

Except  during  school-hours  their  parents'  mar- 
ried life  is  one  long  honeymoon. 

Clarrie  has  put  Lord  Randolph  Churchill's  shoe 
into  a  glass  case  on  the  piano,  and,  as  is  only  nat- 
ural, Andrew  is  now  a  staunch  Conservative. 

Domesticated  and  repentant,  he  has  renounced 
the  devil  and  all  her  works. 

Sometimes,  when  thinking  of  the  past,  the  babble 
of  his  lovely  babies  jars  upon  him,  and,  still  half- 
dreaming,  he  brings  their  heads  close  together. 

At  such  a  time  all  the  anxious  mother  has  to 
say  is : 

"  Andrew ! " 

Then  with  a  start  he  lays  them  gently  in  a  heap 
on  the  floor,  and,  striding  the  room,  soon  regains 
his  composure. 

For  Andrew  has  told  Clarrie  all  the  indiscretions 
of  his  life  in  London,  and  she  has  forgiven  every- 
thing. 

Ah,  what  will  not  a  wife  forgive ! 


276 


